INTERFACE
by Baked The Author
Summary: The powers we get, they get stronger through conflict. No one said anything about our [Shards] evolving through despair. Someone should've warned this wayward [host] before I got saddled with one persnickety owl, no matter how helpful she is! AU
1. Muster 1: Dilation

**Wildbow owns Worm.  
I own ideas and write stories.**

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 **[INTERFACE]**

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 **Muster 1.1  
Dilation**

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"When bad men combine, the good must associate;  
else they will fall, one by one,  
an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptable struggle."  
-Edmund Burke, 1770

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"You know what the villains of this city have  
that the Protectorate doesn't?  
The freedom to do as they please."  
-Shadow Stalker, on patrol with Kid Win,  
February 2011

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There isn't much room for naiveté when you've grown up in Brockton Bay.

While I'm not old enough to remember The Teeth, Allfather, or the Marquis with any degree of scope (I was five at the time), that's not to say there I'm a sheltered child. My father is head of HR for the Dockworker's Association, a union that helps people who once worked at the Docks (before Leviathan ruined the shipping industry) find work elsewhere; many were the frustrated conversations he'd engage in with my mother in the night, thinking I was asleep, whispered to each other at the kitchen table, voices pinched with equal parts encouragement and despair.

There were names whispered at that table, names spoken with fear and hate. They stuck with me throughout the years; they hold more meaning in my mind, now that I have powers.

The Empire Eighty-Eight. Allfather's legacy to Brockton Bay, a sprawling gang of white supremacists with Parahuman leadership, they were the direct cause of much of my father's grief and frustration.

The Boat Graveyard and the Ferry were just two of those things spoken of in the night; the rest was just skinheads coming by the Dockworker's building and harassing people. Seeing Dad come home, occasionally with a split lip or scraped knuckles… again, not sheltered, or stupid.

Not that I'm worried for Dad. Since Mom died, if he comes home with the odd bruise or scrape, if I point it out he'll just give this _smirk_ and say, "You should see the other guy."

Since the locker, I don't really point those things out. More on my mind I guess…

Then Lung showed up, not five years ago, and everything got _worse_. As if neo-Nazis with a penchant for drug trafficking and dogfighting wasn't bad enough, now our poor city was dealing with _more_ drug trafficking along with prostitution and illegal gambling, all backed by an extremely dangerous character.

Even my young self knew, from watching the news and listening to the gossip, that anyone capable of going toe-to-toe, blow-for-blow, with an _Endbringer_ couldn't be a pleasant person. His recruitment of Oni Lee and subsequent deeds in the Docks only affirmed this estimate of the Dragon of Kyushu.

Although, Azn Bad Boys? The name confused me at first. Once I knew what it meant, I marveled at Lung's lack of creativity.

Have I mentioned the Merchants? Their leader's name is Skidmark. I don't think his name's alluding to burning rubber, either. In their case… well, take everything disgusting about humanity and make it a gang. There's nothing they won't do for money, no line they won't cross, so long as they can get away with it with cash in hand.

At least the ABB keeps a _sort of_ leash on their activities; plus, I doubt Kaiser and his merry band of skinheads would appreciate the drug-fueled chaos many posters on PHO theorize might happen, if the Merchants decided to cut loose.

I'm not naïve. I know what I'm up against.

Being an aspiring hero in a city where the villains outnumber the heroes doesn't leave much room for naiveté. I know the odds of me facing some of these bastards and bitches and coming out on top aren't the best, but by George Carlin, I'm going to give it my best effort!

Hence, one of the reasons I'm out running my skinny ass off at the crack of dawn, beneath steel-grey late February skies.

A couple weeks ago, Sophia _fucking_ Hess, the bane of my existence, set some boys to chasing me; something to do with tying me to a flagpole or something, not that I was paying attention at the time. Bit busy running like hell and all that.

Not a bad way to greet me, after spending a week in the hospital plus two weeks' mandatory bedrest. Reason?

Toxic shock from getting stuffed into my locker by the very same Sophia _fucking_ Hess, which happened to be filled with _unspeakably biohazardous material_ , for two hours. Oh, and I might have gone through a _slight_ psychotic break at the time, but who cares?

Not Sophia. Not Emma, may her monthlies be hellish and heavy forever. Not Principal Blackwall, not the school board, not the police, not the PRT, not the neighbor's dog, not that crow cawing at me as I make my way closer to the Boardwalk.

Barring my Dad, who I don't interact much with as is, and is too busy and/or grief-stricken to fully appreciate the issues of his teenage daughter…

No.

One.

Cared.

 _At all_.

Up early, morning run, go to school, get bullied, maybe get a good grade or two if it's a good day, come home, eat dinner, maybe say a few words to Dad, watch a bit of the news for the newest horror story out of the Bay, lurk on PHO, check on my bugs' progress with my costume, brush my teeth, go to sleep, up again, early. Repeat _ad nauseam_.

Now throw in the fact that I'm _probably_ not the sanest person ever, not after the _locker_.

When I say my life sucks, I'm not being an angsty teenager. I'm saying I'm one more terrible day away from trying my luck against Lung or Oni Lee in my pajamas. At least I'd go down swinging. Look cute doing it, too.

But hey! Good news! It's not as bad as it seems! Every storm cloud has a silver lining, after all!

Through suffering we, humans, have endured countless millennia: came down from the trees, discovered tool-making, writing, maths, science, philosophy, chemistry, and explored the barren, unforgiving wastes of space… culminating in the shameless advertisement and sale of overpriced lattes on the Boardwalk, but hardly the point!

We _thrive_ off challenges, off hardship, and those two hours of hell paid off!

I got superpowers for my suffering!

 _…Yay?_

Did I get the ability to create wonders out of metal and wire? No.

Punch through any obstacle like it's nothing? _No_.

Um… think my way out of bad situations? Vibrate through solid matter? Turn into fire or electricity?

Nope, nein, and nyet!

I got the ability to…

Drumroll please…

 _Perceive and direct every insect within a two block radius of my person._

…Applause?

So, yeah, those first weeks after the hospital meant my daily routine included not only knowing where everyone in my general vicinity was (dust mites are _everywhere_. Yes, even there!), but knowing what they were doing. In excruciating detail.

I'll never look at sex the same way again… Also, some of our neighbors have _really weird_ kinks! The less said, the better.

But back to running.

Going on a morning run served several purposes: I get fully woken up, have a chance to check on my progress with expanding my range (slow as a snail, but steadily getting bigger), and… well, I'm a friggin stick of a girl.

A bean-pole. Thin as a rake. Barely an ass worth mentioning and flat as a sheet of paper.

Therefore, logically, _any_ exercise I engage in will have positive benefits. Already, just barely a month into my self-imposed training, I'd gone from puffing with exertion after running around the block to jogging to the Boardwalk and back with… well, not _ease_ , but I could make it through the day after.

Running gave me a chance to think, get my thoughts straight before _another_ exciting, rousing day of school at Brockton Bay's premier academy for up-and-coming gangsters.

Winslow High School. A most wretched hive of scum and villainy, only outclassed by the Docks themselves.

It said a lot about the place, that I needed to mentally prepare myself before going there. It said a lot about me, too, that going on a morning run was actually _helping_ me deal.

Sure, Sophia, that nappy-headed _bitch_ , was probably going to do something wretched to me today; it was a Thursday, after all, and it wasn't like the thuggette to go a whole week without doing _something_ to make my life hell. But I could deal.

I was getting stronger every day.

I was going to be a _superhero_.

… _somehow_. Still needed to figure out how to use my bugs to fight crime. Two block radius, _shit_.

That's, what? _Maybe_ one thousand feet? Seven hundred? I'm no good with maths, so whatever. Point is, my range is _awful_ in a world where people can shoot friggin _laser beams_ from their hands (Purity), turn into flaming death dragons (Lung) or giant metallic wolves (Hookwolf), or dozens of other bullshit powers that make me look even punier than I am.

Oh no! Lung is rampaging! I better blind him with butterflies!

 _Yeah. Like that'd actually work._

On the other hand, some of the insects in this city were scary as all hell! Just a couple minutes ago, I sensed a foot-long centipede skittering around in the sewers beneath the streets. It'd make one hell of a shock-and-awe tactic, hundreds of the things suddenly pouring out of the walls.

Too bad I had to let something like that go; after all, how would I explain to Dad if he noticed?

 _Oh hey Dad! I see you've met Leggy Boy! I found him while out running, and he's going to keep our house clear of pests! Please, can I keep him?_

That was a sure fire way to get myself into a straightjacket and padded room. Or worse, blow my cover.

Good thing there were _hundreds_ of black widows hanging around. A little online research had me squealing with joy; dragline spider silk! Strongest silk in the world! What better material to make my costume out of than one I don't have to pay for?!

Initial attempts were… disappointing, to say the least, but I was getting better at it! By the end of March, at the latest, I should be ready for my big debut!

All I needed was a name, a costume that wouldn't disintegrate in one hit or look lame, and a gimmick that didn't make me look like a villain. I mean, yeah, there were a lot of dangerous bugs out there, but if I went and used them willy-nilly, it _definitely_ wouldn't turn out well for me.

I mean, _really_ : Brown Recluse Assault Team, attack!

Oh, wait, that looks like the Birdcage… _shit_.

Last reason for going on morning runs? So I can think about things like this in relative safety.

Yeah, Brockton Bay isn't safe, but neither is pepper spray, or discretely hidden wasps. Hint. Hint.

At least the weather was okay. Maybe the day would get better. Maybe those bitches at school would give me a break for once. Maybe me and Dad would go out later, see an Earth Aleph movie, do normal father/daughter things again.

 _Maybe Murphy's mom should've gotten an abortion_.

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[1.1]

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Slowing and catching my breath as I came to the last block of my run, I wondered if I could use my bugs to listen in on conversations; when I got enough dust mites together, I could _almost_ hear what was going on in a given room. Problem was, that many dust mites in one place isn't very subtle.

Something to research once I got home. Maybe… yeah, the stereo or the TV should suit my needs nicely…

On the subject of powers, I flicked mine on while trotting down the street, checking on the bugs around me. No sense getting knifed or kidnapped right before sch-

 _Flies and roaches eating at fleshy, rotted bits, drawn by the scent of blood and death, mites and other scavengers feasting on-_

I jerked to a stop with a gasp, owlish eyes fixed on the alleyway ahead on my left, heart thudding in my chest.

 _There's a dead body in there._ I shut my power off. Actually _feeling_ bugs as they ate at a corpse was just… _yeah_ , don't want to throw up just yet.

I jogged closer. Why? Well, there was a payphone at the other end of the street, so I might as well examine the crime scene in brief before notifying the authorities. Any details might help the responding personnel, after all…

I just hoped giving my statement wouldn't take _too_ long.

Coming to a stop at the alley's entrance (after making sure there was no-one else around and trying, unsuccessfully, to calm my pounding heart), I got an eyeful of the victim-

- _brown hair like mine,_

 _crushed glasses near her broken hands,_

 _clothes torn and hanging loosely from her thin frame,_

 _yellow puss leaking from scraped elbows,_

 _maggots already infesting her torn throat and eyes,_

 _brown puddle around her head and upraised hindquarters,_

 _bare feet pointed away from each other; more bruises there,_

 _eyes glassy and hopeless,_

 _face frozen in a picture of horror and despair,_

 _"USED" written on her forehead-_

\- and immediately threw my hands to either side of my face, pulling my hair back as I turned and hurled into the gutter.

' _Oh god, oh god, oh god she almost looks like **me**._' Fuckity- _fuck-fuck_ , what kind of – who in the _hell_ – disgusting pieces of –

I can't deal with this. Not by myself.

I need to call the cops. _Now._

Ignoring the lingering aches from my run, I bolt down the street.

Took me a century to get here. _Fuck you Vista, making me late!_ Fumbling for change with shaking hands. Why are coins so slippery?

 _She looked – not the same, bigger tits, different face – but close, too fucking **clooosssee** …_

Change in the coinslot – _ohgodohgodohgod_ – 9-1-1 – _ohfuckohfuckohfuck that could've been **me**_ – ring-a-ding-ding – _PICK THE FUCK UP SO I CAN GO HAVE A NICE MENTAL BREAKDOWN!_

Tinny voice, impersonal, " _Hello, 911, what's your emergency?_ "

' _Pick-up or delivery?_ ' my reeling, slightly broken mind supplied before I blurted out, "I'm at the corner of," swift check, "Elm and Boardwalk Avenue! There's a dead body in an alleyway!"

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[1.1]

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Five minutes before the cops got there.

 _That could have been me._

Ten before the ambulance shows.

 _That could have been me…_

Twenty minutes of repeatedly explaining my daily routine to a male officer with a notebook before he gives me a ride home.

 _Even if I used my powers, they'd have killed me anyway – fuck, **that could have been**_ **me!**

No, officer, I don't know the girl, never seen her before in my life. I always come this way on my morning runs, for the past week, anyway.

High School student, going on a run every morning, stamina exercise.

No, I'm not on the track team (I'd sooner drink a broken glass/razorblade smoothie), just health-conscious. Yes, my name's Taylor Hebert.

Yes, Danny Hebert's my dad. Yes, _that_ Danny Hebert. No, you don't need to call him, he's probably on his way to work.

No, no other parents; mother died in a traffic collision two years ago.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Rote response. No inflection.

 _No you're not. You just don't care and can't think of anything else to say._

"Thank you." Rote response. No inflection.

 _Your wife is probably cheating on you right now, you weak-jawed churl-_

Yes, I would very much like a ride home, officer, thank you. I hope you find out who did this, too.

 _Not that you will. Because you don't care._

You have a good day too, officer. Thanks for the ride.

 _Die in a fire._

House is fine. Dad's already gone. Note on table. _Back by lunch. You okay kiddo?_

I assuage his concerns. Don't mention the girl. Just took longer on my run.

Breakfast in the microwave. Tastes like ashes and bacon. Delicious.

Shower, keys, book bag, door locked, bus to school.

People, everywhere. Another day at Winslow.

 _Another body for the morgue._

"Taylor Hebert?" More rote.

"Here."

 _For how much longer?_

Finish typing work, check PHO.

Nothing. Crime blotter.

Yep. Glad they kept my name out of it.

Looking for an identity. Basic description.

 _Almost sounds like they're talking about me._

Next class. Madison. Sophia. Emma.

No greetings, just smug smiles.

 _Could be worse. It could've been me._

Class a blur. B on my homework. Oh well.

Bell rings. Off to the next.

Oh… _they're_ following me… fuck.

 _Please, just one day. Just give me one day to process-_

"Hey Ems! Check it."

"… Huh. Hey Taylor!"

 ** _No._**

"Aren't you supposed to be at the morgue?"

 ** _Nonononono._**

"Ya'know, because you got raped and murdered last night."

Laughter. Like a sitcom laugh track to my ears.

 **…**

Emma sighs, hands Madison her phone back. Sophia sneers.

 _Please, no more-_

" _Too bad it **wasn't** you._ So sick of seeing your face. Probably would've been an improvement, from what it says here."

 _Whywhywhywhy_

"Tch, no response. Whatever, you probably would've enjoyed it, getting some _last minute_ attention! Later, loser!"

 _Whyemmawhy_

And they walk away.

Laughing.

And I stand there.

Wondering why no one cares.

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[1.1]

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 _Too bad it **wasn't** you._

Public transport. Bus smells like people. Sweat and capitalistic slavery.

 _"Taylor, look! I got a new Alexandria figure!"_

Same sidewalk, different day. Yard needs mowing.

 _"It's okay, Taylor. Your mom might be gone, but I'll always be your friend."_

Watch the second step. Key in the lock. Nobody home.

 _"You're the best, Taylor! Thanks!"_

Note on the fridge, twenty bucks pinned to it. _I'll be working a bit late today, kiddo. Money's for pizza and wings. Leave some for me. Love, Dad._

I'm not hungry. Stomach disagrees. Order pizza. Thirty minutes.

Check on black widows. In the basement. Journal's still there. Widows messed up another sleeve…

 _Too bad it **was-**_

" _FUCKING **BITCH!**_ " my superhero journal bounces off the washer with a _bang_ ; but I'm too busy screaming incoherently to care much about damaging things.

I fling my ruined suit back into the hidey hole, collect my journal, order my weaving widows to kill their weakest members for food, and head back upstairs.

Tea. Tea calms the savage beast.

… We're out of tea.

' _Oh, hasn't today been just **pleasant!** I know! I'll just sit in the living room, watch some TV until the food gets here! Nothing can go wrong there, no sir-ee!'_

News is on, they're talking about the girl I found this morning. Still haven't found any family. And now, the weather!

Flip through channels. Nothing really interesting on. Animal Planet it is.

It's not Shark Week, so it's some reality show about cats being used as coping tools for people who've been victimized by Parahumans. Interspersed with commercials for things I can't afford and a shitty recruitment reel for the PRT. Irony, thy name is marketing.

' _Someone up there hates me, and I'm pretty sure his name's Murphy.'_

Ding-dong-the-derrio! Pizza's here, keep the change, all 23 cents of it.

Soda and delicious pizza. Wings are a bit on the soggy side. Sits in my stomach like a brick.

Drama on the cat show. One of the PTSD people flipped out over a cat scratch. TV off. Head upstairs.

 _'I fucking hate this.'_

Hello, computer! You never judge me.

' _Traitor, liar, back-stabbing two-faced **whore**.'_

PHO's got nothing. Nobody talking about the dead girl in the alley. Blasto made some weird variants of Venus Flytrap and left them in a park near Harvard. One cat maimed. How tragic.

' _Were you ever really my friend…?'_

People on the shipping boards going back and forth over Shadow Stalker/Aegis. I could see it, _sort of_. Aegis _was_ pretty hunky, and when you add Shadow Stalkers rockin' legs, it paints a rather provocative picture.

' _…I'm so alone.'_

Burying my face in my hands, I finally broke down and cried.

My friend, turning her back on me. The school, doing nothing to stop the bullying; hell, at this point, the Principal might as well be elbowing me in the halls and pushing me down stairs herself.

My Mom's flute…

 _The locker._

And this stupid buzzing between my ears that _won't go away_. Not my bugs. Just this constant, high, keening _eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_.

My Dad, too busy or caught up in his own life to notice a damn thing.

' _Would he even care if I…?'_

Maybe. He was enough like a zombie as it was, spending more time at work than with me.

I shook my head furiously, "No. No. I'm not… _No._ " I needed sleep. Today had been rougher than usual, but tomorrow…

Would probably be worse, with my luck.

" _Fuck_ ," switch off computer. Go wash dishes. Brush teeth. Back to room. Into bed.

Lie awake for hours, trying to curl into myself, wish myself away.

Dad comes home. Checks on me. Pretend to sleep. He leaves.

 _Too bad it **wasn't** you._

Fuck you, Emma. Fuck you with a _fire hydrant_.

I wish I didn't miss you. Miss our talks, our plans for the future, our dreams and fears.

I…

…

…I wish you still cared, if you ever did.

' _But if wishes were pigeons we'd be covered in shit._ '

Night falls.

Still can't sleep.

' _Forget it Taylor. She's a bitch, you're a better person than she is. Deal.'_

I'm so fucking tired of dealing.

Of getting shafted every day.

Of watching my city slowly rotting from the inside.

Of waking up, _every day_ , and knowing.

Expecting.

Things to get worse.

…

…

… I'm tired of being the better person. Of holding back. Of being _kind_.

Woe betide the fool villain who met me in a dark alley. And if I died…

At least…

At least…

…

… at least no one would care much.

With that realization, I felt myself drifting off to sleep at last.

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[1.1]

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But there was one more batch of weirdness left in my day, before I could enter Morpheus' realm.

You know those moments, right before you go to sleep, where you can be aware of… _things_? You hear things, see things, in the dark?

Sometimes it's flowers losing their petals and instantly growing them back, or a face that should look familiar but isn't, or animals running across your ceiling, or _things_ that you can't describe easily, _things_ that _shouldn't be_ but your brain tells you are _oh so real_.

This was one of the latter.

It was a bit like looking at a twenty-sided-die that contained a non-Euclidian gyroscope around a sapphire-encased neutron star.

What's more, it wasn't all that worrying or painful to look at. Quite pleasing, in fact.

' _Maybe I'm having a stroke. Wouldn't that be lovely…'_

[parameters?]

Mmm, most of that sounded nice. Five-mile range, add some birds, executive officer tied to a Breaker form to manage birds, make sure no cape could touch me without coming under my direct command… hmm, that last one didn't sound so good. Birdcage-worthy. Better limit that to a couple millimeters, for safety purposes, and set it so that it's only active in the Breaker form.

[adjustment]

[agreement. destination?]

My room? Yeah, sure. Why not?

[agreement]

[manifestation?]

Ooh, what's this?! I get to pick what form my personal assistant takes? Cool.

No… no bugs. I've had my fill of bugs.

Oh, wait! Birds! Birds are pretty! I'll need something regal, capable of taking care of itself.

Something that'll be overlooked by the average Schmo.

Hmm… well, owls are cool, but snowy owls are kinda visible. Great horned or eagle?

…Great horned; those eyebrows are _epic_.

Also, this is one _cool_ dream. I'd been fearing a nightmare, but this was a lot better, on the whole!

[selection]

[optimizing]

The multi-dimensional D-20 starts shifting oddly; weird, that I'd think that. It was a rather odd to look at as it was…

Bugs flowed into the D-20, mostly roaches, forming a vague shape.

Maybe it has a name?

[query?]

[data] **Shard Designation: Queen Administrator**

Bit of a mouthful. I'll just call it… Queenie. Hehe. I wonder what it does…

[query?]

[data]

Okay, one: _ow_ , instant headache syndrome!

And two: that sounded a lot like what my power does… wait-

[initializing]

The neutron star _flared_ -

-and the whole world went _strange._

Right before it all went dark, I thought, ' _Why does my power taste like carpet?'_

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 **a/n: the idea of naiveté being a definitive measure of a person's outlook on life is a naïve statement in and of itself, as there will always be something outside your experience that will shock and awe you, no matter your preparations or arguments to the contrary.**


	2. Muster 2: Sight

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 **Wildbow owns Worm. I am not he.  
This story might someday be M, but for now, it's T.**

 **Enough rhymes.**

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 **[INTERFACE]**

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 **Muster 1.2  
Sight**

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[concern] [host]

' _Who's talking?'_ I thought, coming slowly back to wakefulness.

I was on the floor. _Probably_. Face in the carpet of my room, the close proximity rendering the cotton/nylon material in stark relief to my blurry vision. My hands were next to my legs, which were bunched under my body; oh, and my ass was pointed skyward. Yeah, _so_ not comfortable. I hope Dad didn't see me like this… nah, he'd have woken me up. Dad's a good guy like that.

Must've fell out of bed last night, ' _So that's what my carpet tastes like… Gross. Gonna have to brush my teeth twice this morning._ '

 _"Blehhhh…"_ was the first semi-coherent sound I made this morning. Carefully, as my neck and back were _so sore_ from sleeping like this, I levered myself up to my knees and began searching for my glasses. Could've sworn they were on the table here…

Smacking my lips to get the taste of dust and feet from my mouth, I located the corrective lenses and slipped them on my face-

 _There's an owl on my bed_.

"GAH!" limbs flailing, I scurried away from my bed with a cry, losing my balance and landing on my bony butt in the middle of the room, " _Oof!_ "

Shaking my head to clear the remaining cobwebs of sleep from my mind, I adjusted my now askew glasses and stared fearfully at the avian predator on my bed, ' _How the hell did that get in here?!'_

It was quite the sight: an adult great horned owl, brown feathers speckled with gold, black and grey spots, its eyebrows twisted brown and black and curving backwards over its round head, a tuft of white fur on its breast making a sort of 'V' shape beneath a black beak, above which luminescent eyes of the purest blue glowed in the dark of my room.

Oh, and it was staring at me, wide blue eyes fixed firmly on my face. Creepy owl being a creeper!

"Shoo!" I waved an arm at it, keeping my voice down so as not to wake Dad; I was the one who dealt with weird shit on a daily basis, not him! He just fought off skinheads and got people jobs. No sense getting him involved in my weirdness, "Go on, shoo!"

The owl tilted its head, still staring at me.

[confusion] [host] [destination] [proposal]

… What.

Okay. _Okay,_ don't panic Taylor, this is just another weird thing in the long series of strange occurrences that this year has been. One thing at a time. Baby steps.

The owl, I presume, just expressed an existential feeling of confusion directly into my brain, referred to me as the "primary Shard interface module", designated as [host], then asked if I wanted it to "move to a given location in fourth-dimensional space-time for any purpose", or if I had "an administrative project to submit for peer review/refinement/completion".

It was then I realized that, right before I woke up, the owl expressed concern over my sleeping on the floor in an uncomfortable position.

Gripping my dark, bed-matted hair, I did my best not to have another panic attack. Two in as many days couldn't be very healthy, after all.

' _Really, Murphy? I can't even get_ one normal day _anymore?! What did I ever do to you?!_ '

No, stop panicking and think, Taylor, _think!_ There has to be some logical, _hopefully sane_ , reason for this latest bout of weirdness!

Waaaaait…

 _Last night._ The weird star-thingy. All those ideas appearing in my head. Me responding in kind.

HOLY SHIT, _that was_ **real?!**

I scoured my brains for the information that came at the end of what I'd thought until now was a strange dream, but, according to my memories of last night, plus the owl on my bed, what _actually_ happened was this: my "Shard", as it referred to itself, the source of my power, _manifested itself_ into a physical form at my behest…

"Okay…" I whispered aloud, finding what I was looking for; the information was vague at best, but with a little more time I _should_ be able to puzzle out just _what the hell was going on_.

Glance at the owl, _Queenie_. Still staring at me with a small amount of concern.

Creepy.

Right. New powers, let's see here… Okay, nothing _too_ drastic: instead of being aware of every insect around me in detail, I would now only be aware there _were_ insects around me, along with what they were doing/what they were attached to (if they weren't flying about), for a range of _about_ …

 _… Five miles…_

… Sweet, dark chocolate _funkadelic_ , as Mom would say! I know I wanted longer range, but _Jesus tap-dancing_ **Christ** , that's a little _strong_ – what do I even _do_ with – would my accuracy fall because of – GAHHHHH!

I wasn't even going to _try_ using my power right now! Not until I knew whether or not I was stuck at five _fucking_ miles, or if I'd be able to start small and slowly increase –

Wait a second…

I looked at Queenie. ' _Okay… so I could commune with this…_ not-an-owl _, without much difficulty, and I was asleep when I did that. Shouldn't be too hard now that I'm awake…'_

So… asking a question… Well, it communicated with me existentially, mentally, so it stands to reason I can do the same.

Formulate question: _My control range, can I start it small and increase overall control to maximum range… gradually?_

Okay, I have my question! Now…

… how to put it in the owl…

"Um… can you understand me?" I asked tentatively.

Blank stare, slightly tilted head.

Darn. Strike one.

' _Okay, there's_ gotta _be something in the_ [data] _it gave me last night_ ,' I rapped my knuckles against my head, _'C'mon…_ OH!' Yep, there it was!

 **[Shard]-[host] communication: [formulate] – [refine] – ["message"]**

Okay, so I've got the [formulate] bit down. The [refine] bit… _that_ was harder. I needed to alter my [message] into a simplified [query]; which, based on the question I needed to ask, had a lot to do with my power's [parameters], which were basically a series of adjustable settings that set limits upon what I could do.

It was like… like interfacing with the galaxy's most powerful supercomputer, but that supercomputer existed in something like 16 dimensions and was currently occupying a physical avatar. Oh, and not only were the instructions hard to read, but the keyboard was _inside my head_ …

More questions. Wow. I might _actually_ need coffee to process this, and I _hate_ coffee!

Plus, my body's natural processes were making their protests known; or, _I had to pee._

I rose slowly, keeping my eyes on Queenie. The owl's gaze followed my progress. I edged toward my door. The owl made to follow, nimbly bouncing from my pillow to the foot of my bed.

"Um… stay?" I ventured; really didn't want the pan-dimensional owl staring at me while using the bathroom, especially… I glanced at my clock: 4:29 AM. And of course it's two hours before I usually wake up. On a school day, too. _Glorious_.

Anyway, Queenie, my not-so-little not-an-owl responded in the only way she could: with a brief rustling of feathers and another blank stare.

"Shit… oh, wait!"

Okay, let's try that again. Formulate… refine… send to owl with a mental _push –_

[destination] _Hold position, do not alert non-_ [host] _units to your presence._

The response came immediately.

[agreement]

Or, ' _By your command.'_ That's what it felt like, anyway.

 _Super-duper._ Off to the bathroom, still trying my hardest not to _totally freak the fuck out_.

' _Okay… yesterday_ ,' I mused, taking care of my morning business, ' _Yesterday… happened. Probably the worst day I've had since… yeah, since the locker. Beginning to end, one fucked up day. Maybe I've gone through a second trigger event._ ' Flush, wash hands, rub face with soapy water, check reflection; wow, I look like shit. But, given yesterday and the month I've had so far, that's not too surprising.

Pursing my lips, I tossed those self-depreciating thoughts aside; there were more important things to consider at the moment, ' _Right. Let's… see where my range is… and hope to Saint George the Carlin I don't get an aneurism from sensory overload or something_.'

So thinking, I shook my hands out, took a couple deep breaths… Right, I can do this…

Wincing and closing one eye in expectation, I _gently_ called on my power, just a _little bit_ –

-and immediately became aware of every insect in my neighborhood. There were four clusters of gnats, approximately 150 each, scattered about outside; 375 flies in various places, including next to the fat guy snoring on his couch up the street; 5,240 dust mites in twelve houses, including mine; 1,012 mosquitos, the number fluctuating as they were preyed upon by small birds and other insects; 512 spiders, from tiny jumping spiders to brown recluses and my black widows, some eating, some breeding…

… _10,294 ants_ , in the sidewalks, in the walls, under the grass, _everywhere_.

It was disorienting… at least, at first! The way my power behaved was _completely_ different! I could now _see_ the insects, with both my eyes and with my mind, like different colored lights! Not only could I tell the difference between them without _really_ focusing, using these lights, but I could get an accurate count of how many there were in my range _with a thought!_ And no headaches or serious drawbacks to knowing all this stuff!

' _Oh, man, this is so **cool**!'_ I was grinning from ear-to-ear, giddiness flowing through me at this new and incredibly useful aspect of my new powers, ' _And I can use this over_ five miles?! _Wow… well, let's see how that pans ou-'_

I opened up the 'valve' on my power to full bore.

 _I became Brockton Bay._

[1.2]

Sight, sound and thought brushed against my mind, hundreds of birds' consciousness flowing through my thoughts like a river. As I passed them by, I left the knowledge that I'd call on them again someday imprinted on their beings.

Joy, simple and pure, followed, the simple animals suddenly given purpose through a greater being.

Insects in houses and sewers.

Crustaceans under the bay and on the beaches.

Spiders in basements and behind walls.

Sparrows, cardinals, pigeons, seagulls, owls, crows, and _more_ , all going about their daily routines.

Millions of tiny minds and bodies, spread out beneath my watchful mind; Downtown, the Boardwalk, my neighborhood, the near parts of the Docks, the suburbs, Arcadia High School (it was actually pretty clean! Why can't Winslow be clean like that?!), a couple abandoned barns and warehouses just at my range's edge… all of it was me, and I was it.

Speckled throughout this tangled web of _life_ were gleaming stars, at odds with the grey flicker of spiders, sparkling blue ripples that were birds, and green glow of ants; they _shone_ , so bright and pure… in most cases.

Over by the Boardwalk, a couple moths were disturbed by the arrival of Velocity, who I saw through a crow's eyes; his light was silver and… of a _sharp_ feel to it. Hmm.

Focusing slightly, I heard him say to the air, "… over here. If they _do_ try coming back to the scene… Sir, with all due respect, Panacea could use the practice… Heh, I got no problem with that, Armsmaster. Velocity, out." And, with that, he was away like a shot.

' _Holy butterscotch! The_ Protectorate's _looking into that murder!'_ Maybe I shouldn't have been so hard on that police officer… in the privacy of my head. It warmed my heart, though, that something was being done for that poor girl.

' _Too bad I was too late… no, don't think like that, Taylor. All you can do now is hope you find the sick fucks that did it, and make sure they get_ justice.'

I moved on, glancing at a few stars outside my range, in the Docks; some were still, others moving. All were in groups of two or more. ' _Wise of them. I'll have to watch where they move, once I get used to being like this.'_ I tried closer to home, brushing over the Bay and the critters living underwater while simultaneously finding out where _Glory Girl,_ Victoria Dallon, sleeps! Courtesy a wandering owl.

…That is a _thin_ tank-top. Looks cold in there… also, mark my words, Glory Girl: one day, you'll envy my legs more than I envy yours right now! Oh, and does your _mother_ know your panties are _that_ sheer?! Jeebus, and just _look_ at those hips; some girls get all the luck!

Ahem… anyway, what's this on the Bay?

Looking at the Rig, the ENE Protectorate HQ, I counted four glimmering stars through the eyes of a pigeon. ' _One of those is Armsmaster! I'd bet my… err, do I have anything to bet, other than Queenie and some black widows? Whatever, it's in the Rig, so it_ must _be Armsmaster! Wow!'_ I felt a giggle leave my lips, back in the bathroom, watching one of the stars move from one floor to another, ' _I feel like a super-spy!'_

One of the stars on the Rig, though… it looked… well, it looked _weak_ ; like the little red flicker of light was trying to shine as bright as the others, but something was getting in its way. On top of that, it was rather close to another, brightly shining blue example, ' _Huh. I wonder what that's all about…_ '

There was only one other weak star, sequestered in a big house in the suburbs. It seemed more stable than the one on the Rig, though, so it couldn't be _that_ bad. ' _Maybe some powers are just like that… or, maybe, they're injured?'_ I shook my head; research for later.

Then I looked at myself…

…

…I was _beautiful_.

Unlike the stars, I could see myself clearly: a marble statue, veins of the purest sapphire running over my arms, legs and face, eyes shining with a deep blue light, flickering lines forming a crown-like pattern across my forehead, creating a sort of… _sci-fi_ look to my figure.

Like I was a _robot_ or something…

…

… I'd better check that out in person. Okay, power off.

[1.1]

I was still staring at my reflection; eyes were still flickering blue a little.

Jumping slightly, I looked down at my arms, fearing that I was stuck like-

-everything looks normal. Except my eyes – no, wait, those are normal again, too.

I exhaled in relief, "Okayyy… _wow._ " Staggering back, I hit the nice, cool tiled wall and slid down slowly.

' _I don't think there's an expletive for how… weird that was,'_ I thought numbly, trying to sort through all I'd seen, ' _So… not only can I see, interact with, and control bugs, birds, and crustaceous critters, but I can_ see other Parahumans _… wow. That's bullshit!'_

How the heck can I do that, any – wait one Brockton Bay _second!_

… Last night… there was something, about other Shards… and me being able to direct –

 **No.** Nope. Nuh-uh. Not thinking about being able to control other people. Bad idea, _very bad idea!_

Slippery slope, what goes into Fugly Bob's burgers, Birdcage, menstrual cycle, Granny's bedside drawer – yep, good, that ability's in the _'things Taylor shouldn't think about too hard'_ file!

Deep breaths, Taylor! Bright sides! Think _positive, goddamnit!_

 _'Okay! Not the end of the world,'_ thought I, slightly manically, _'just don't use the "Assume Direct Control and Make Heartbreaker Look Like a No-Starter" ability! That's easy!'_ I scoffed and waved dismissively at myself, there on the bathroom floor, _'I mean,_ really _, you can have lobster any time you want now! For free! You can walk down the street and have a dozen colorful birds land on you and sing Mozart, like a princess!'_

Hold up. No princess stuff. I'm not Emma –

… _Emma._

 _'Too bad it **wasn't** you.'_

"Thoughtless bitch," I growled; yep, there we go, use anger to suppress the horror. What was I thinking about?

Right. Powers. ' _I've gone through another trigger event… but_ now,' I looked at the bathroom door.

Now… I needed to figure out just what my new, unrestrained powers could really do.

Which meant I needed to speak with a certain owl.

[1.2]

The door to my room cracked open. I peeked inside.

Owl on my bed. Queenie. The Queen Administrator Shard. ' _Or is it? Why do I glow, when I look at myself through the eyes of my insects?'_

Well, I'd spent an extra ten minutes in the bathroom formulating some questions about this subject, and this… not-an-owl, presumably had the answers. Therefore, as it hadn't attacked me yet, I could deduce that the only way to get those answers was to experiment.

For science! And heroism!

 _Gulp!_

I eased the door open fully and stepped into my room. Shut the door quietly. Tiptoed over to my computer chair and sat facing my bed.

Queenie kept her eyes on me the whole time, head swiveling as I walked, but otherwise didn't move.

Creeper. "Come closer," I beckoned with my hand, indicating the headboard, putting on a winning smile I _really_ wasn't feeling, "Move onto the headboard, Queenie." Please work, oh pleaaaase work!

The owl looked between my pointing finger, the headboard, and me for a moment…

And kicked off the bed, flapped its massive wings once, and landed gracefully on the headboard!

" _Yes!_ " I cheered quietly; maybe it _could_ understand me! "Very good, Queenie!"

The owl in question was looking down her beak at me, almost like she was chiding me for being ridiculous; in my defense, I was still on a bit of a high from discovering my new range limits… and seeing Glory Girl's bedroom – no, Taylor, checking out another girl isn't gay, she's just really pretty, you're straight as a one-dimensional ruler. Focus!

Rubbing my hands together, figuring this wouldn't be so hard after all, I gave Queenie my firs-no, _second_ order, "Right, could you, um, inform me," I indicated Queenie and my head in turn, "how… err, how you're supposed to help me?"

Blank. Stare.

Fuck. ' _Alright,'_ I pursed my lips, preparing myself, _'Plan B.'_

Formulate, refine, and…

[query] _[list] [Shard] [parameters]?_

Took me a minute and calling on my coding studies from Keyboarding class to get that question put together. I hope it work – _sledgehammer in my **face** , the fuuuuuck!_

.

[data]

[list] [ordinary] [parameters]

[Lesser Administration] _5 mi_ [restriction: [species: avian, entomologic, crustacean]]  
[Direct Shard Administration] [deactivated] [restriction: [user: host] [Shard Interface]]  
[[Shard] Avatar] [designation: "Queenie"] [Secondary Shard Interface Module] [LA restricted ( _5 mi_ ) by [host]]

[list] [Shard Interface] [parameters]

[Lesser Administration (SI)] _x=_ ε _0_ _– [variable: x= **P** ]_

[species: avian, entomologic, crusteacean]  
[Direct Shard Administration (SI)] _1mm – 15m_

[list] [host/Shard] [parameters]

[logistic dissonance: active]  
[troubleshoot: active]  
[threat/assistance assessment: active]  
[[host] physiological optimization: idle] [restriction: [host] [data]]  
[non-[Shard] communication: idle] [restriction: [host]]

[[Entity] Connection: searching…]

[error: primary [Entity] [designation: EDEN]] [no connection]

[searching…]

[Entity] [designation: ZION] [found]

[error: connection error qDF] [Entity] [parameters] [nominal]

[end] [list]

[query] [parameters] [satisfaction] [host]?

.

' _Oh my god, oh my god, that hurt, that **really hurt,** holy field of sweaty dicks, THE FUCK?!'_ it was around now I realized…

I'd fallen on the floor, _again_. From my now-wrinkled PJ's and even messier hair, I'd gone through some _slight_ convulsions, too. Grabbing an armrest, I tried levering myself back into my chair, feeling a little peeved, ' _Great. Ask a simple question, nearly have a stroke.'_ I looked to Queenie.

Still staring at me with a vacant, owl-y expression of disinterest.

What it gave me was slowly becoming clear in my mind, though; the [Administration] bits were pretty self-explanatory: it listed stuff I could control… although, I couldn't really understand that 'x' bit… the **P** -variable, on the other hand…

 **P= current spatial/temporal Planetary residence of [host]**

Or: _I could, potentially, control every bird, lobster and insect on Earth_.

The Shard Interface looked cool at first glance; my body fuses with Queenie, I gain the endless multitasking ability of a Shard, a pair of wings sprouting from my back, faster reflexes, durable physique, talons replacing my feet, and a low regeneration ability. Oh, and complete _bullshit_ range with my power. Like, _Endbringer_ levels of _bullshit._ I'll have to wait for a weekend or sneak out at night, figure out what the Interface is like.

It would suck, after all, to have something and not know how to use it when needed.

Oh, one more _itty-bitty, tiny thing…_ WHAT IN ARMSMASTER'S MAJESTIC BEARD DO YOU _MEAN_ , _TRANS-DIMENSIONAL SPACE-WHALE?!_ THE FUCK IS THAT?! _ENTITY?_ THAT'S AN ALIEN SPACE-WHALE HELL-BENT ON DESTROYING HUMANITY, IS WHAT! WHY THE _RICH, DARK CHOCOLATE **SPIT-ROAST**_ **WOULD I WANT TO _COMMUNICATE WITH IT?!_**

Also, in hindsight, _maybe_ I should've spent less time around the Dockworker's building when I was little. Then again, some of the expletives I've learned there are enough to get _The Butcher_ blushing.

Too much. This was too much for a fifteen-year-old social pariah to deal with, superpowers be _damned_.

' _Tea. Need tea. And ice cream… yeah, this seems like an ice cream kind of day. But first…'_

Building up my frustrations, and _boy_ did I have a lot of things to be frustrated by right this second, I hurled them at Queenie with a _very_ resounding, [INDIGNATION]

The owl visibly reeled in shock, leaning back slightly and looking down its beak at me. It looked _really_ surprised, staying in that position for several heartbeats before blinking and leaning _slowly_ forward again.

Then again, I _did_ just offload quite a bit on the poor thing. My last message wasn't all that… well, it went something like this:

.

[INDIGNATION] [start]

[satisfaction?]

[ _satisfaction?!_ ]

[annoyance!]

[hatred, designation: Emma Barnes, Sophia Hess, Madison Clements, Winslow High School]

[despair: Docks]

[reason: villains]

[despair: [host]]

[incredulity: [parameters] [list]]

[fear: [Entity: ZION]]

[exasperation: [Danny Hebert], [Shard Avatar], [Protectorate], [Brockton Bay]]

[desperation]

[loneliness]

[hope]

[query: [parameters] [proposal]]

[end]

.

Okay, so the last one was mostly me practically _begging_ for Queenie's help in making me a heroine, but I had a very good reason for offloading all that baggage on this owl.

I didn't have anyone else to talk to, to vent my frustrations on. Seeing Queenie's reaction, however, had me feeling a little bad about doing it.

On the other hand, it felt _good_ , to express just how desperate my situation was to someone… err, some _thing_ … to Queenie, the multi-dimensional owl with fantastic eyebrows and pretty blue eyes.

While waiting for an answer, I mentally glanced at the [parameters] that came right before that Entity shit…

So, Queenie, and myself by extension, could now figure out more efficient ways to move my swarm about, though I'd have to experiment with that to raise the logistic bit's potential… Troubleshoot, the ability to sort out errors and turn mistakes into successes, and threat assessment, which was self-explanatory, were mostly Queenie, but I could use them in the 'Interface' Breaker form; both were useful expansions of my powers, though I'd need more information to make them useful.

Finally… physiological assistance? Huh. So Queenie's a personal trainer too? A good explanation would be: Queenie controls microscopic organisms in my body to bolster targeted areas, such as muscle mass, bone density, and, well, I could tell her to optimize any part of my body!

Downside: I'd need to eat _a lot_ of food over the next week for any short-term uses.

Something to consider, once I've got these new powers figured out in full.

After a moment of me fidgeting and Queenie being very still, my owl's response appeared in my mind like it'd always been there.

[data] [error: insufficient [data] [request]

Oh – _ohhhh…_ Yeah, that _was_ a problem, huh?

As annoyed as I was with her bashing me on the head with a mental sledgehammer, Queenie, apparently, didn't know what a hero _was._ On top of this, she didn't know what, precisely, was needed for me to become just that: a heroine to look up to, that could stand proudly beside the likes of Alexandria and Miss Militia. Someone to believe in and follow.

It was… kind of sad, really. She may be part of me, but that doesn't mean she has all my memories. ' _Looks like I'll have to do this the hard way…'_

Hmm. Maybe that would work as a [proposal]?

… but how can I express such a desire, when I barely have a clue myself?

' _Baby steps, Taylor. You may feel like you're in the deep end, here,'_ I centered myself with a few calming breaths, ' _but you've put up with being bullied for_ years _, now. You figured out a fair bit of your powers in just a month. There's just a few more facets to it, now. But… where to start? Oh!'_ I snapped my fingers and grinned, ' _My costume! That should be a good test of this owl's usefulness!'_

So thinking, I extended my power to the basement and my widows, who were carefully counting stitches and trying their best to repair the mess that was the left sleeve; picturing what I wanted my final costume to look like…

Hold up. That Breaker form, Shard Interface. Crap, I couldn't go out looking like a bug, then get _owl_ features. That'd look silly. Okay, no problem; just, I dunno, pattern the costume to look like Queenie? Blue lenses for the mask, too, to hide when my eyes glow. Yeah, that looked good in my head.

Okay, add what I knew about threading silk, from library books, top it off with insoles in the feet so I wouldn't have to worry about boots or making much noise, _aaaand_ …

[proposal] send it to the owl!

Queenie's response was swift, brief, and surprisingly detailed!

[parameters]: [[host] proposal] [designation: costume]

[minimal requirements: cockroach (1,200), maggot (3,000), beetles [various] (5,000), black widow (300), dragonfly (200), crow (20)]

[suggestion] [additional materials: metal, weaponry] [insufficient [data]] [request]

[completion] [temporal estimate: 1 day-cycle]

Okay, so I needed a bunch of cockroaches and beetles for the feather patterns and armor, maggots to feed the black widows, dragonflies to transport these supplies to my basement, and a small murder of crows as scouts and visual security, to make sure no one was the wiser. And she could have my costume all but done in a _day!_

I'd look _good_ , too! Queenie added a hood to hide my hair, my mask would look like an owl's face (complete with majestic eyebrows), and my armor gave off the appearance of wearing a sleeveless, hooded vest. Some forearm and shin guards, too! I'd look professional, mysterious, and, above all, regal!

Grinning in delight at not having to micromanage my costume any longer, I was about to give the go-ahead when I remembered, ' _Pockets! I forgot pockets!'_ Pockets were necessary! It was also one of my pet peeves, when it came to girl's jeans: fake pockets.

Yeah, I like skinny jeans, but I also like pockets! How am I supposed to carry around my wallet, keys, and other tidbits without pockets?!

What? A _purse?!_ I may as well get a messenger bag and _not_ look like a rich, pretentious –

Facepalm. Why buy what you can _make_ ; oh, wait! Why make it yourself, when you have a personal assistant/magical owl who can do it for you?!

I'm not made of money, after all. Good thing, too; whoever got _that_ power would never get a moment's peace ever again.

Okay, another proposal, or an addition? Hmm… addition first, I think. Once my costume's done, I can work on the messenger bag. Then, I'd need to teach Queenie how to be a hero.

So I sent Queenie the aforementioned [refinement] for my costume, adding a [query] over whether or not it'd take longer to finish.

[agreement] [temporal estimate: 1 day-cycle]

Righty-ho, still about one day to completion! Now…

How do I start this thing?...

… eh, nothing ventured, nothing gained. [proposal] [commence]

Just like that, I felt the widows in the basement cease their work; twenty minds brushed against mine, visions of streets, alleyways and public parks flickering in my peripherals as the crows began moving in tandem to Queenie's rapid-fire instructions; dragonflies woke and began moving to refuse piles, seeking out the maggots therein; cockroaches, ladybugs, crickets, and centipedes began forming into small balls for the crows to pick up and carry to my back door. All of it done in one single moment!

"Wow, Queenie," I breathed; that was _fast!_ My superheroine costume would be done by tomorrow morning!

Smiling widely, I surged out of my chair and hugged the owl! [affection!] With something like Queenie at my side, being a hero just might be easier than I thought!

[confusion] Huh? Queenie didn't understand why I was hugging her? Or expressing affection through our mental link?

…Uh oh. ' _I have to teach my owl/personal assistant how to understand and express feelings…'_

I glanced at my alarm clock. 5:12 AM.

Plenty of time.

Back in my chair, boot up the computer! To the internet!

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **a/n: Taylor is slightly cracked from the amount of abuse she's put up with. Her sense of fairness skewed by what she's been through thus far. And now she has an owl that, basically, puts her just beneath Khepri in terms of ability.**

 **Except, you know, not _nearly_ as insane.**

 **It is, however, something to keep in mind.**

 **Once that happens, things become clear…er.**

 **Stay tuned.**

 **~Baked (10reviews/72favs/105follows _in less than a week?!_ I'll try not to let you all down!)**


	3. Muster 3: Decision

**.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **Taylor Hebert is the God-Queen of Escalation©  
Wildbow is her mentor and Liege-Lord  
I am a mere Bard, singing their praises**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **[INTERFACE]**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **Muster 1.3  
Decision**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

My alarm clock clicked, began playing an Aleph pop song.

" _Everybooodyyy!"_

"Yeaaaah!" I grunted along to the song as I knocked out another sit-up, ' _twenty-eight.'_

" _Rock your booodyyyy!"_

"Yeaaaah!" gritting my teeth, I worked through the aching pain in my abs, arms and chest, along with the weird tingly feeling of Queenie speeding up my muscle growth, trying to get this last core exercise out of the way before my morning run…

Why was I exercising like this? Well, after teaching Queenie her ABCs and learning her in basic speech patterns, idioms and facial expressions, (via YouTube video) and shoving a Thesaurus down her throat, I'd given her my memories of using Google, Wikipedia and YouTube in a [data] packet before letting her off the leash.

I'd no idea I was creating a monster.

Right now, she had _six_ windows open: A YouTube queue on exotic insects, another YouTube queue of PRT and Protectorate press conferences, a Wikipedia page that kept changing every few seconds (currently, she was studying ancient battles and personages thereof), another window kept switching between Google and various physical training reports and human biology treatises, and, finally, two windows on local wildlife and places of interest.

The sight of Queenie, eyes unblinking, perched on my desk with my headphones on her round head, typing URLs into the search bars with a wing-tip and rapidly clicking and scrolling with a claw on the mouse…

It was, at once, hilarious and unnerving: hilarious for me, because, I mean _come on!_ An _owl_ with majestic eyebrows surfing the internet!

On the other hand… I was _a little bit_ worried that she'd become addicted and try to bite me if I wanted to, say, check PHO or do my own, private research… to say nothing of what the PRT would think of this scene, should they know of my full abilities.

A Master, learning _years'_ worth of information in a matter of _hours_ , through one of their constituents. With how they were treating Canary, a relatively docile and well-meaning woman who was, from what I'd seen, more a victim of serial harassment than the next Nilbog or Heartbreaker…

 _Yeah_ , the Breaker form was one thing; computer addict Queenie delivering simplified [data] packets on exercise techniques, basic self-defense, posture, social etiquette and cape summaries would probably have me in a holding cell on the Rig before someone could say "Security breach!"

Not that I was spying on the PRT! Well… I mean, it's not like they're hiding anything really important! I checked, through my bugs and birds! And-and, what if there's spies for the E88 or ABB in their HQ?! They've been in the Bay long enough that such a thing isn't outside the realms of possibility! Oh, and if I found anything, I'd be turning it over to them post-haste! Anonymously, of course; I don't need _that_ kind of attention on what I'm doing.

Like the physical portions of my expanded powers.

It was, honestly, cheating; it was taking the proverbial line separating Movers and Brutes from the rest of us, ripping it off the ground, and slapping those smug pricks in the face with it.

The ease with which I could gain muscle mass (and a few, um, _special_ upgrades to my physique) was so easy, it could be divided into a few easy steps:

.

Step one: go downstairs and microwave some pizza and wings. Big cup of Dr. Pepper to wash it down, because Dr. Pepper is for winners!

Step two: completely consume consumable confections. Remember, use paper towels, not pants, to clean hands.

Step three: tell Queenie how to sculpt my body through [parameters].

Step four: work out. Work out like your life depends on it, because it so totally _does_!

.

Okay, last one was a _bit –_ okay, a _lot_ harder than it sounds; Queenie [proposed] that the easiest way to do things, given that we don't have a weight bench or any dumbbells, was to leave all the research to her while my poor self preformed push-ups, sit-ups, squat thrusts, wall-sits, and various stretching maneuvers.

Long, painful story short, I'd spent the last hour making myself as sore as possible, my personal trainer/not-an-owl correcting my forms with drill-sergeant levels of anal-retentiveness. In spite of my complaints thereof, Queenie pointed out that it was all necessary.

The [[host] physiological optimization] feature of my powers could only work in two ways: one, I needed to let Queenie know what areas of my body I wanted altered and how, adding "raw material" to my digestive system to provide the microscopic symbiotic bacteria living in my body something to work with; so, for example, I could ask for stronger bones, but I'd need to ingest more calcium and iron to help things along.

Hence the protein-rich chicken wings and cheesy, gooey pepperoni pizza I scarfed down before working myself into a puddle.

Secondly, I could, theoretically, make my vital organs more durable through a special process. However…

 _Several minutes ago…_

 _[proposal]_

 _I stared at Queenie, mid-push-up, [negation] "I'm not eating one of your feathers, Queenie."_

Yeah, I'll stick with the upgraded durability of my Breaker form, thanks.

And if I'd [proposed] that she divert some of the proteins and fats to my, ahem, buttocks and legs, rather than my arms and core, that was just me trying to improve what I thought were my best features! It _certainly_ wasn't out of a sense of vanity, that's for sure!

Oh, and ' _twenty-nine.'_ One more, Taylor! You can do it!

" _Everyboooodyyy! Rock your body right!"_

' _Thirty! Bluuuuh, I feel like jelly!'_ I fell spread eagle on the floor of my room, letting out a loud gust of breath, ' _I'm finally done! Oh, and [destination], Queenie.'_

 _"Backstree-"_ click! Queenie's wing slapped the Snooze button on my alarm clock, cutting out the sound of some boy band that every teenage girl on Aleph probably wanted in the worst ways. Queenie didn't even look away from the computer screen when she did it.

' _Maybe I can get away with just laying here all day,'_ thought I from the floor, amazed at the levels of wonderful, jelly-esque pain throbbing throughout my body as Queenie's little helpers busily optimized all the work I'd just done… and got started on my soon-to-be-perfect butt, ' _I'll send an owl to sub in for me at school. I look enough like one, no-one'll be able to tell the difference. Plus, no way in hell even Sophia would try attacking an owl; nature's ninjas, they are.'_

Yep, owls are bad news if you piss them off, from what Queenie's sent me through [data]; silent flying, night vision, retractable wing talon, razor sharp claws and beak, smart as a crow. The average owl is, simply, an adorable, cuddly, snuggle blender with wings that will, without hesitation, rip your face off faster than you can blink.

Oh, and crows are _sooo_ fucking smart! The ones here in the Bay have already told each other, through _caws_ , that I'm the head honcho now and to keep an eye on me; Queenie and I didn't even have to tell them that, the dears! Ten of last night's twenty were holding position around my house, tracking everyone who came into the area, ensuring no threat would approach me!

But enough about birds; I needed to get up and run.

The all-consuming jelly-ness of my body was fading, leaving a tingly feeling, so I asked for a progress report from my personal trainer:

[query] [progress] _nearly done, Queenie?_

[data] _78% completion,_ [host]. _Intense movement will not impede_ [progress].

Great! Grunting and panting, I managed to regain my feet with little effort.

Dad was already downstairs, getting started on breakfast; I'd prepared his lunch, leftover pizza and wings, an hour ago, when I'd gotten my own food. My power told me he'd seen the note and hummed thoughtfully.

Heading to the bathroom, I realized, quite belatedly, that by giving my name to the police, and being a minor, they'd no doubt gone to see him at work; if he knew what I'd gone through yesterday, I felt confident that I could talk my way out of any restriction for my morning runs.

If he didn't… well, all the better. I didn't want Dad worrying too much about me.

Going about my morning absolutions (use bathroom, wash face and sweaty pits, brush teeth lightly), I stretched my power outward, wanting to get a feel for what the city was like as it woke…

[1.3]

Huh, Glory Girl wasn't in her room. Damnit, Taylor, stop being a stalker!

To be fair, though, my power was already pretty stalker-ish, what with my ability to locate pretty much anyone in the city in a matter of seconds. Especially if I knew where they lived. Maybe I'll switch to Panacea tonight… _stop it, Taylor._ Moving on!

Emma, that traitor bitch, was sitting on her couch eating cereal and watching the morning news, still in her PJs. Maybe I'll give her house termites later… no, Taylor, that's not heroine behavior. Sure, she'd deserve it, but come on, Mom raised you better than that!

On the other hand… no, Mom's dead. If she was alive, Emma would've gotten her ass chewed into hamburger for abandoning me, and the locker wouldn't have happened. Funny how these things work…

Hmm… one of the capes from the Rig last night was in the PRT building downtown now, fifth floor… 219 dust mites in the room… arrange into a pattern Queenie suggested when I asked her about auditory surveillance half an hour ago annnnd…

"…sign of the perpetrators, ma'am. Velocity and local law enforcement were patrolling all last night. No doubt they'll be laying low until we take the heat off them." Male voice, familiar… Armsmaster! I'm in the middle of a morning briefing by _Armsmaster!_ "Coroner report was finished last night; would you like the details or…"

"Keep it bare bones, Armsmaster. There's a lot on the docket today." Female voice, unfamiliar… send a couple stray fleas and a fly to trace the plaque on the door.

"Yes, ma'am; pattern of wounds, placement of body and…" he cleared his throat, "the _message_ we found fit the Merchants' MO."

"You're saying _Skidmark_ did this?" First name… _E…m…i…ly…_

"No, ma'am. Likely this was a group of their unpowered members; it's a rather common 'rite of passage', where the Merchants are concerned." _P…igg…ot…_ oh holy fuck.

"Where's this information coming from, Armsmaster?" woof, she's got some bite to her voice. Then again, given that she's the _god-damnned_ PRT Director… not too surprising.

"Shadow Stalker and our PRT Agents, ma'am. According to Stalker, she's seen cases like this during her time as a vigilante. She was also _quite_ adamant about finding who did this, ma'am; the alley is near her usual patrol route."

"Hm. I'll keep it in mind. What's next?" Right, I've got enough to go on so far.

Backing out while sending Queenie a [proposal] to keep an eye on things in the PRT building, I ran a quick scan over the rest of the city; some of the other Parahumans were up and about, going hither and tither. A few were already headed to Arcadia; I ignored them. If they were Wards, which was practically a given, or members of New Wave, I'd respect their civilian identities. No sense breaking the law just to satisfy my own curiosity.

' _Which means, Taylor,'_ I chided myself as I dressed for my run, _'no more sneaking candid glances at Glory Girl! Yes, she's hot as a bucket of suicidal wings, but she's a_ heroine _! Your owl may be a creeper, but that doesn't give you an excuse to be one too! Stop it!'_

One of the Parahumans was out for a morning run, it looked like. _'Huh. Small world.'_ Their light wasn't _exactly_ light, but, rather, a star hidden by a smoky, swirling cloud. They were rather fast, too; also, a glance from a sparrow as they passed showed a backpack and hooded sweatshirt.

Their path… if they kept on it, they'd end up at Winslow…

… okay, maybe just a _tiny_ peek. Just for safety purposes, of course.

Move a crow into their path, aaaaand…

…

…I froze at the top of the stairs, Dad's voice calling me downstairs coming to my senses from the other side of the world.

 _Sophia._

 _Hess._

 _Is._

 _A._

 _**Parahuman**._

[1.3]

I switched off my power, schooled my expression, took a deep breath…

 _'I'm getting out of Winslow. No. Just… **no.** Too much risk, especially now that my powers have evolved. Queenie, _[proposal].' I needed to know how to safely remove myself from Winslow without it hurting my education opportunities, and Queenie _was_ on the internet; I'd have an answer in no-

[data] [suggestion]

…Well, fuck! That was a rather _bold_ plan. If it worked, though…

[agreement] oh, and [data] send my Winslow email address so Queenie could get it to me at school. I could print out the appropriate forms when I got there.

Walk downstairs. Everything's normal. Just another day in the life of Taylor Anne Hebert, social pariah and bullying victim.

Dad's got buttered toast and a water bottle set out for me. "Morning, kiddo."

"G'morning, Dad." Toast is perfect. Yum. "Going out for my run."

" _Taylor._ " ' _God. Damn. It.'_ "Wait a second."

Look up at Dad, picture of innocence, "What's up, Dad?"

"The police came by work yesterday, after lunch." Oh. So _that's_ why he didn't mention anything in the note. I'd wondered about that.

"O-Oh." _Brown hair like mine, 'too bad it **wasn't** you', "USED"-_

I shook my head, _hard_ , "Y-yeah… I'm not running down to the Boardwalk today, Dad. Just a few times around the block should do."

He nodded, slowly, "You're okay?"

 _'Of course I'm not **fucking okay**! I just saw another girl's raped corpse!' _Deep, shuddering breath, get ready to tell another lie.

" _No._ " no, Taylor, that's not a lie, "No, Dad, I'm… _fucking pissed_ , that someone… a human being, would _do something like that to-t-to…"_ Dad comes around the table as I lose the fight against my tears.

Crap, not even noon, and I'm already crying. And here I thought I was dealing just fine… guess not.

Dad hugs me, "I've got you, kiddo… And you're right to be angry. Lord only knows how angry _I_ am, that you saw something like that."

Another shuddering breath, get it together girl, don't stain your Dad's nice shirt with tears, "I'll be okay, Dad," swallow hard, look in his eyes, _damn I'm pissed_ , "I saw something on PHO; the Protectorate's looking into this shit."

"No surprise there," he smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes, "I mean, something like that in the Docks, nothing they can do, usually. But the _Boardwalk?_ They're not about to let that fly."

Sniffle, nod, "Yeah… Well, like I said, I'm staying close to home-"

"Oh, no, that's fine, kiddo. There was something else," he visibly winces, uh-oh, "My boss, you know, the one in Florida? Well, the lay-about forgot to mention there's a union convention down in Boston next week, and he got the Dockworkers a kiosk."

"Oh… so, we're going to Boston?" sounded like fun… if a little counter-productive to my plans.

He's still wincing? Not good, " _I_ am; my boss, in his infinite wisdom, forgot I have a teenage daughter," seriously? How do you forget something like – oh, wait, he lives in _Florida_. With hurricanes on top of Leviathan, I don't see how anyone sane would want to live there. "so there's only a hotel room for one," Dad shrugs while I deflate slightly, "I was going to call Alan, or you could talk to Emma, see if you can stay over their house next week?"

 _When hell freezes over, chocolate tastes bad, tea plants go extinct, and Alexandria gets fat._

Also, over my cold, unfeeling corpse. Just in case those things happen.

Bright side? House to myself for a week, WHOOOO! So much Administration's gonna be goin' down, baby!

Deep breath, _Sophia Hess is a Parahuman_ , "I'll ask her when I get to school," bald-faced lie, "and I'll call you from a payphone when I get out," the whole, unvarnished truth. _Hopefully_. "If, um, if they can't, I can take care of myself just fine," been doing it for years, now, "Not like I'll burn the house down or anything."

Dad smiles, "I know. If the Barnes' can't, then it's fine. And… I'm sorry, sorry for springing this on you so suddenly, kiddo." I hug him again; oh, Dad! I'm not mad.

Another moment, we break apart and his face becomes all business, "Now, if you _do_ end up staying here by yourself… ground rules-"

"No wild parties, no boys over, don't go too far from where you're supposed to be, try to find a girlfriend."

He blinks, "Uh… well, I'm not going to judge your life choices, Little Owl-"

I grin, _gotcha_ , "Dad. Those are _your_ ground rules. Seriously, you're handsome, you're tough, _get a girlfriend_."

Laughter. A rare thing in this house. "Alright, kiddo, you've had your fun. But, seriously," all business this morning, it seems, "The same to you, except finding a boyfriend/girlfriend. As your father, I must vet and interview with extreme prejudice any individual endeavoring to date my only daughter, and I can't do that from Boston."

Yeah, because they're just lining up around the block for a shot at my (soon-to-be-not-so) bony ass.

"I'll be fine, Dad. Promise." I'd be super busy anyway. So much to do, less time to do it in.

"Okay… _okay,_ " god, but he looks nervous, "I'll set you up with money for the week when I get home tonight; whether you're staying here or not, you'll need some kind of allowance. Oh, and I'll be leaving Sunday morning; stay near the phone, because I _will_ be calling to check up on you every day, around 6 in the afternoon."

I grin, "Unless I'm at the Mall, shopping for clothes," _or out superhero-ing,_ "I'll be here to pick up, Dad. Can I go run now?"

Another laugh; is the sky falling? "Go on, kiddo."

Finish toast as I go out the door. Warm-up stretches, check crows, all-clear.

 _Sophia Hess is a **Parahuman**._

' _Well,'_ I thought viciously as I began jogging, then running, ' _This is an interesting conundrum. I actually_ hope _the Terrible Trio start something today.'_

A grin found its way onto my face as I completed my first lap, picking up the pace for the next two of the ten laps I had planned.

 _'They won't know what hit them.'_

[1.3]

Like clockwork, the idiot girls met my expectations just after Mr. Gladly's class.

Unlike the many times before this, I was prepared; Queenie sent me a [data] package on how to speak devilishly good right after Keyboarding class, there was a filled-out government document burning a hole in my book bag, and, during this past class, I could've _sworn_ Queenie was grinning when she sent me all the [data] she could gather on practical self-defense.

I took the knowledge of how to make someone _shit themselves_ with a kick with all the relish of an angry teenager who had an axe to grind.

Now, showtime!

"Still here, Taylor?" simpered the traitor bitch, wall of hanger-ons watching with eagerness, "You know, I thought you'd skip out today…"

' _Your vainglorious attempts at dramatic pauses leave something to be desired, you stuck-up little bitch.'_

"…after all, it's not like your pimp can give _himself_ a blowjob!"

More laugh track. Have I mentioned I _hate_ sitcoms with laugh-tracks? Try listening to them without the pre-packaged laughter. Sooo awkward.

But enough of this bullshit, time to give this bitch a taste of her own medicine.

"My pimp? Oh, sorry Emma; I forgot you know all about those, what with how much you get on your knees for your talent agent."

I kind of wish I'd brought a camera. Her fucking _face_ , oh _god!_ I'm going to have _dreams_ about that face!

On the other hand, I wasn't planning on taking prisoners, "You look shocked. Don't worry, Emma, your secret's safe with – oh!" glance at the other eight students cornering me against a locker, including Sophia and Madison, "Whoops. Guess it's not a secret now."

Hess looked like she wanted to tear my throat out or something, but Emma rallied with a scoff, "You didn't deny it though, _Taylor_. Tell me, when they took your V-card," hmm, that's one _vicious_ smirk, "did you _cry for a week?"_

…Huh… Why haven't I given you crabs again? Or, you know, HIV? Pretty sure I can find a mosquito and a blood donor somewhere…

Oh, right, I'm a heroine. Today's your lucky day, Emma, you cold-hearted bitch.

 _Or not._ "Was that supposed to hurt me? Using the grief I confided in you after my mother's death to try and get a rise out of me?" oh, how your expectant grin melts away like snow in July, "Seriously? After everything you've done so far? After I woke up this morning and realized that the only reason you keep doing this is to make yourself feel better, knowing that you'll be a used up nobody by the time you're twenty, and I'll be at college getting a Mastery?"

She tries to interrupt, "Yeah, as if! You're not smart eno-"

"Oh _Emma_ ," was being bullied by this poor excuse for biological matter always so _boring?_ "Grow up." With that dismissive statement, I turn to leave. _Three, two, on-_

Hess grabs my backpack strap, pushes me back against the locker, grinning in anticipation, _just as planned_ , "Looks like you need another lesson in respecting your _betters_ , Heb- _urk!"_

The butchery of my last name was, like everything I'd done today, carefully planned out; in this case, planned for maximum shock factor; the cause leading to this effect would've needed a slow-motion capture camera to see, I was so quick, but no doubt Sophia would not only know what happened in _excruciating detail_ , she'd have a hard time walking for the next couple minutes…

 _Seeing as I just kneed her in the clit._

Anyone who says hitting a girl in the groin does nothing is a sad, ignorant person, and should be pitied by all and sundry.

Granted, I wanted to get her a little further back, make her fill briefs in a _very_ literal sense, but Hess wasn't standing close enough for a knee in the critical spot, not far away enough for a kick. Hence the alternative.

 _'Grab her bra straps through her shirt,'_ done, ' _Head-butt!' Oof,_ good thing Queenie made my skull stronger after breakfast, or that would've _really_ hurt!

Sophia goes flat on her ass while I screech, sounding quite distraught, " _Stay the fuck away from me, you crazy bitch!"_

Next bit: run. Shoulder my way past two gaping background characters, get halfway down the hall before, _right on schedule-_

" _What_ is going on here?!" ahh, Principal Blackwell, right in front of me, having just turned the corner at the end of the hall, on her way to meet Mr. Gladly for an 'afternoon delight' in the old wood shop.

It's just as horrid as it sounds. Trust me. Bug vision.

Just like that, all the little workers start defending the queen bees, while I absentmindedly checked on my costume at home and wondered, ' _Maybe I should send a couple owls or hawks out to the farms in the suburbs. There's a lot of black widows out there, and I want that messenger bag ready by Sunday night…'_ Of course, I was defending myself back in the halls of Winslow, though not much; I was the victim, the loser. I'm supposed to stand there and look hurt, shamed and betrayed. Not too hard. ' _Oh, is that a peregrine falcon?! I wonder if I can find a nest!'_ The falcons of Kings, they are! Great for delivering messages and hunting, and oh, so pretty!

Not as pretty as Queenie, of course, but a close second!

" _Enough!_ " right, Blackwell, "Sophia, Emma, Miss Hebert," _yesss,_ "my office, _now._ "

Foolish woman.

[1.3]

"- _completely_ unacceptable behavior, Miss Hebert! Why I've _never-"_

I'm sure you've seen worse, Blackwell. I mean, it's not like your school's been used as a recruiting ground for the ABB and E88 for practically your whole tenure…

Oh, wait, I'm being sarcastic. It _has._

"-fine, upstanding young ladies-"

Wait, is she talking about Emma and Sophia? I honestly stopped listening after the five-minute mark; seriously, any chewing out that lasts longer than that, for something as minor as a scuffle in a High School hallway, is just _screaming_ 'power trip'.

But, on the subject of the two girls next to me being 'fine, upstanding young ladies'…

Yeah, allow me to express an appropriate response, in the safety of my head:

 _BAH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OH-OH-AHHH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!_

Wait-wait… _pfft_ , oh shit, that gave me the best idea!

[data] [amusement]

Queenie's response? [agreement] [data]

See?! Even the _pan-dimensional owl_ is laughing at you, Blackwall!

Oh, and Queenie also sent me an update on my costume. The mask looks good. Nice eyebrows, almost looks like a crown. Awesome.

"-do you have to say for yourself, Miss Hebert?"

Fucking _finally!_ It only took you twenty-six minutes and sixteen seconds!

Deep breath, calm nerves, because _you can do it Taylor!_

"Well, to be perfectly honest, ma'am," I began in a calm voice that was at odds with a small part of me screaming ' _Bad idea! Bad idea!'_ , "when you told my Dad that I wouldn't be bullied in school any further, I actually thought you'd back up your words with actions. _But_ , seeing as, not only has the bullying gone on, but you appear to be _enabling_ it, I'm offering you a way that won't see us both become destitute from lawyer's fees." I reached down to my bag, pulling out the forms I printed out earlier in Keyboarding and filled out during lunch…

And enjoyed the brief, shocked silence.

Blackwell didn't last, sadly, "What _nonsense_ is this, Miss Hebert? Threatening a school official is-"

" _Ma'am._ " I retorted sharply, "I am _not_ threatening you. I am stating the _fact_ that you, _personally_ , would not be able to afford, based on your state-approved salary, the civil suit for going against your own _official_ statement, made in January in the presence of two Brockton Bay detectives, that I would be safe here," I snapped the papers in my hand when she opened her mouth, " _or,_ much more seriously, failure to properly sanitize and secure this educational facility at the start of the year. I'm _sure_ the State Board of Education, not to mention the CDC and FBI, would be _pleased as punch_ to know that you _deliberately_ covered up the presence of a Level 2 Biohazard on the premises _after it was exposed to the student body_. And if you think cleaning my locker was enough, you've forgotten one thing: my toxicology report. Ten more minutes in that locker and, instead of explaining to the CDC your improper removal of toxic waste after one of your students _nearly died_ from exposure thereof, you'd be explaining away a _corpse_."

Really, _really_ should've brought a camera. I had no idea someone could imitate a fish so accurately.

I stood, placing the 'Student Notice of Voluntary Expulsion', or, for those not in the know, the official document for drop-outs, on Principal Blackwell's desk. She stared at it in disbelief.

" _Or,_ " I went on neutrally while she paged through the stapled papers, "you can sign, stamp and copy that form, I walk out of Winslow, and we hopefully never meet one another in an official capacity ever again."

It made me nauseous, that this plan hinged on _letting_ them get away with it. However, given that I was planning on becoming a superheroine while cramming for my GED (which, with Queenie helping my studies along, would be easy as thought!), plus the fact that, barring a sizable loan from the bank, Dad couldn't really afford the lawyer's fees, on top of the unfortunately strong possibility of losing the case, I was willing to grit my teeth and bear it.

After all, this was merely my vengeance against Blackwell and Winslow in general; Madison, honestly, didn't factor into my plans much. Sophia deserved special treatment, being a fellow Parahuman and possible Ward (I was thinking Shadow Stalker at the moment, but I'll hold judgement till tonight, watch where she goes). And Emma…

Well, if you want to hit someone, hit them where it hurts. She'd get hers in due course.

Sophia, it seemed, was quick on the uptake, despite the blow to her head, "You planned this! The fight in the hallway! Getting caught!"

"No," said I blandly, not looking away from Blackwell, who was frowning at me, "Just dropping out and going for my GED. Signed up for that earlier this week," a lie, I did that during Keyboarding, and Dad still needed to sign off on it, but _Hess_ didn't need to know any of that; anyway, _now_ I looked at Sophia, and _smirked_ , much to her visible rage, "I just needed you to give me one more reason to leave, Miss Hess."

"Miss Hebert, you are making a grave mistake," began Blackwell, voice slightly shaky.

' _For fuck's sake,_ ' I went for the kill, "The only grave mistake I've made, _ma'am_ ," I snapped, "was not taking the scholarship to Arcadia when it was offered, instead wanting to stay with my 'friend'. In the interim, that 'friend' has left my side, my grades have slipped, I've been bullied, and I've been _hospitalized_. Whether or not you sign that paper is irrelevant; I'm _never **willingly** _setting foot _in this building_. Ever. Again."

Blackwell sighed, shaking her head and picking up a pen.

I sneered down at Emma, who was looking at me like I'd turned into Alexandria, stripped naked, and started dancing Hammer Time on Blackwell's desk.

Horrified. Emma looked _horrified._ Interesting…

Sophia, on the other hand… was looking at me _appraisingly?_ Okayyy, that's not creepy at all! I better get out of here, _fast_.

Scritch-scritch went Blackwell's pen.

The stamp sounded like a gavel in the silence of the office.

"Have the secretary in the office make a copy, then _get out of my school_ ," Blackwell all-but snarled, roughly thrusting the document back at me.

I smiled brightly, "Thank you, ma'am! You won't regret this!"

Spinning on my heel and not giving those two bitches a second glance, I kept myself from strutting out of the office by sheer force of will and the mental reminder that…

' _Dad is either gonna be pissed, or he's gonna hug the stuffing out of me.'_ Oh, right! I better update Queenie on this latest development. Handing the form to the office clerk for copying, I did just that.

[completion] [relief]

[satisfaction] I had to agree with her; for an owl that exists in multiple dimensions and geeks out on a computer all day, she comes up with _damn_ good plans!

The original was pressed back into my hands. Look it over quickly as Blackwall's office door opens. Everything's in order.

I look up. Hess glaring daggers at me. I grin brightly at her…

And skip my way out of Winslow, once and for all!

[1.3]

Approaching the payphone, two blocks from Winslow, I swallowed painfully.

' _I'm about to ruin one of Dad's oldest friendships,'_ I thought, raising my hand to pick up the receiver, ' _I've been lying to him for a year and a half… and that's all about to end.'_

It was one of Queenie's lessons, which she related to me as [data], that strengthened my resolve, made me want to end all these lies I've been telling myself and others.

 _The best successful relationships are  
built with trust and honesty._

I'm tired of lying. Of being dishonest with Dad. It needed to end.

Better to rip off the band-aid quickly. ' _Talk to dad, go to his office, tell him everything – except the cape stuff – go home, have a nice cup of tea, and everything's going to be just. Fine.'_ Unless Murphy decides to throw me a curveball again.

I picked up the receiver. Dial tone. Change in the coinslot. Coins aren't slippery this time.

 _I'm not the girl in the alleyway._

Picks up after three rings, " _Danny Hebert, Dockworkers."_

"Hey, Dad." I smile, even as my eyes sting, realizing that my life was only going to get harder from here.

 _I'm the one who's going to **avenge** her._

 _"Kiddo? Did school let out early?"_ a pause, _"Everything okay?"_

Deep breath, "Yeah… Um, is it okay if I come by your job? I… _we_ need to talk about things."

 _I'm not going to turn away. Or back down._

 _I'm going to be a superhero._

 _And nothing's gonna stop me._

 **.**

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 **a/n: Huh. Two updates a week.**

 **I would literally pay someone (in chunks of malachite) to make a video of Alexandria, in full costume, dancing to the tune of MC Hammer's "U Can't Touch This" with the Wards as back-up dancers. I busted up just writing that bit. XD**

 **Seriously, if the CDC got wind of the Locker Incident, Winslow would've been shut down within a _day_ , Blackwall would've lost her job, and the Heberts would be _very_ rich from the resultant lawsuit.**

 **My Taylor doesn't care what other people think of her. Mostly, this is due to her second 'worst day ever' and all the bullying she's put up with, plus being let down by nearly everyone she knows; in spite of all this, Taylor's going to become a heroine whether or not anyone has a problem with it, and is fully prepared to Escalate© the shit out of them if they try to stop her. Case in point: her treatment of Blackwell.**

 **Oh, weird thought! Has anyone here played _Hotline Miami?_ Taylor in a Rasmus mask with blue eyes. It's kind of fitting, actually, given what that mask does… minus the homicide.**

 **Till next time, folks!**

 **~Baked**


	4. Muster 4: Subterfuge

**.**

 **Wildbow + keyboard=Worm  
Baked + keyboard=fanfiction  
**

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 **[INTERFACE]**

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 **Muster 1.4  
Subterfuge**

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The silence in Dad's truck should grate on my nerves; if it wasn't for the fact that I'd just seen him chew out Alan Barnes over the phone, I'd probably misjudge it as a silence of disappointment. But it's not like that. It's…

It's a _good_ silence. I glance at Dad. There's a slight frown on his face, but that's more to do with the last-minute rush through the Dept. of Ed. offices we're driving away from; they wanted us to come in Monday for my GED materials, but, well, when I got to Dad's work, told him everything that'd been going on at Winslow…

My Dad's known throughout Brockton Bay for three things: how tall and tough he is, that legendary Hebert stubbornness I thankfully inherited from him, and his towering temper. Carlin won't help you if you get on the wrong side of the third, let alone get God off his Lay-Z-Boy to save your sorry ass from Dad's vitriol.

For five minutes, that's what Emma's Dad ended up getting.

Then both our parents realized something: Alan Barnes didn't know Emma and I weren't friends anymore, either.

I smile to myself, pressing my temple against the cool window, watching the city move steadily past. Or was it the truck that was – know what? It's been a _long_ day. I'm looking forward to a piping hot cup of tea and, maybe, a relaxing book. That, or kick Queenie off the computer so I can do more cape research.

She may be able to do that for me, but… well, I'd just gotten a small measure of independence for myself! I wanted to _enjoy_ it while I could!

The Education offices got the stubbornness side of Dad; good news was he _somehow_ knew how they could cut through the red tape in just under an hour so I could get the assigned work for the month of March early. Though, given his job description is Human Resources Supervisor, his philosopher-worthy insights into legislation pertaining to people isn't all that surprising; in short, GO DAD!

And just like that, it's official: I'm not _just_ a loser now, I'm a _drop-out_ loser who's going to get such high scores on her GED tests, I'll probably fall under suspicion of having a Thinker power and get into whatever college I want. Still need to go into school for my lab tests and final exams, but nothing says _which_ school I'd have to go to do that.

I'm hoping for Arcadia. It's _so clean_ there!

Speaking of Thinker ratings… maybe Queenie counts as a Thinker? Master/Thinker? So what did that make me? Master/Thinker/Breaker? Or would it be Changer instead of Breaker, because, ya know, pseudo-shapeshifting?

No, it was Breaker. The way Shard Interface works is more shifting from one physical state to another through use of a secondary module, with the result of my powers behaving differently and increasing my physical capabilities…

This, if I'm seeing the benefits of Shard Interface correctly, means that, when I use it, I'm effectively becoming a Master/Thinker/Mover/Brute/Striker/Shaker.

 _Six_ different classifications?! Like I said earlier: _bullshit_. Wait, no, _awesome_ bullshit.

Sure, it's ridiculous how my powers have evolved, but I'm not gonna complain much if it helps me save the city!

The Master rating is off the fucking charts, obviously, while the Thinker appears to be slightly above average; my estimations on the Mover and Brute classes is mostly due to the fully-functional owl wings I'd get, plus my natural durability and strength being further augmented by fusing with Queenie. As for Shaker and Striker?

…Direct Shard Administrative Field. Fifteen meters, or fifty feet, is its maximum radius, one millimeter for the minimum; there _is_ a downside to using it at full bore, however.

Controlling insects, crabs and birds is one thing; controlling _people_ and their Shards is another. By their very nature, humans are complex beings, Shards even more so; close examination of the DSAF's [parameters] showed that there's a sort of "feedback loop", where I'll be fully aware of all external and internal stimuli of any living creature within the field.

In other words, if I take over someone with the field, I'll experience everything they do, including how they feel, personally, about me manipulating them.

Conclusion: if I expand that field to its max and filled it with people, even if I'm in Shard Interface, _I'll go insane in seconds_.

Hence why I'm keeping it at a nice, safe 1mm, with an option to turn it off completely. Not taking any chances with the "I own you now" power.

We're on our street now, a few blocks away. Just a little further, and the tea we picked up at the store will be in my tummy! Oh, sweet, sweet Darjeeling, how I missed you last night!

"Kiddo?"

I look up and smile at him, "Yeah, Dad?"

"Next time you plan on making a life-changing decision like this," oh, boy, I knew this was coming; at least he's smiling a little, so it can't be that bad! Right? " _please_ give me a little more warning so we're not running all over the city right before I have to go on an important business trip."

Oh… fuck, Taylor, _way to go_ , "Dad… I'm… I'm _really_ sorry-"

We pull into the driveway; Dad raises a finger for silence. Parking break, stern look leveled in my direction, "Do not, I repeat, _do not_ apologize for standing up for yourself because you're being bullied, Taylor. While this was a minor inconvenience on my part," he smiles, "I'm glad you're out of that terrible school, even if it's not _exactly_ the way I'd wanted things to go. And while I'll put up with you getting a GED _for now_ , I expect you to at least apply to another school come summer-time, on top of a summer job somewhere; I'd prefer a coffee shop on the Boardwalk," I suppress a groan, because, yeah, I _do_ need money, and things are tight as it is; plus, _drop-out._ I'll have to show more responsibility, to stay in Dad's good graces, "but, so long as you run it by me and it's not in the Docks or _illegal_ , I'll support you 100% kiddo. You're very smart, and I know you can get into Arcadia if you work hard at it, but, given how you seemed to come up with this _brilliant_ plan out of nowhere, I don't think that'll be a problem."

Bzuh? I stare at his grinning face, not quite comprehending that last bit, "Brilliant plan?" he nods, still smirking, "Dad, I dropped out of school and blackmailed my Principal. I'll be lucky if she doesn't black-list me for every High School in the state!"

"And _I've_ made sure she doesn't do that very thing, Little Owl," he ruffles my hair and gets out of the car, dodging my playfully swatting arm in the process, "Why do you think I was on the phone so long back at the office? If Blackwell talks," we grab our grocery bags and make our way to the door; house is fine, power says Queenie's still in front of the computer, widows feel like they're just about done, "not only will the press get your tox report and that diary you told me about, she'll find the FBI knocking at her door. Nice name drop, by the way."

I blink, confused… wait a _fucking –_ "You know people in the _FBI?!_ "

"One of your mother's college friends works out of the Boston office, last time I checked anyway; she told you about Lustrum, right?" I nod, so _totally_ awed, while Dad continued to smile, "Yeah, you don't want to mess with Betty. She was one of the people who helped New Wave bring Marquis in. One phone call and all the connections and lawyers in the world won't save Blackwell from the wrath of Ballistic Betty."

I snort, putting the grocery bags on the counter, "Do people really call her that?"

"Considering that she's a 6'2" burly woman who, when I first met her, was pounding a college linebacker into the ground for harassing another girl," Dad gives me a look that says ' _What do you think?'_ "Granted, she's calmed down since joining the Feds, but give her a case of criminal negligence and she's on it like an angry badger."

Well, damn! Didn't know my parents know such interesting people! "How come I've never met her?"

"Regulations." And that's all he'd say on the matter.

I can understand, though. A Federal Agent who was involved in Lustrum's movement going to see someone else who'd also been involved in the same movement, let alone their young, impressionable daughter? There were red flags all over that idea, and if _I_ could see it, so could the government.

Speaking of seeing things, once the groceries were put away and I made a nice, big mug of wonderful tea, I made the excuse of looking through my GED materials so I can head upstairs and check on both Queenie and my swarm.

Dad waves me off, lasagna for dinner. Aww, _yeah!_

[1.4]

Okay, Queenie is awesome, but I'm _fairly_ sure my computer fan isn't supposed to be _that_ loud!

[destination] Right, Queenie, time to get off the computer. Don't want you ruining your eyes… even though I'm pretty sure that's not physically possible.

[disagreement] What?! Ah, crap! Queenie thinks she can assimilate all recorded human knowledge, in a _day_ , with my clunker of a computer?! I don't think she'd be able to do that with _Dragon's_ computer, let alone _mine!_

[retort] [data] If you burn out my computer, Queenie, or drive the electric bill through the roof, so _help me_ …

The owl's wings sag slightly, her head turns to face me…

… _puppy-dog eyes have **nothing** , I say, **nothing** ,_ on pleading owl eyes. [request?] [parameters?]

D' _aww!_ Queenie's asking me for one more hour! Oh, and that _face!_

Wait, no. No, Taylor. Do _not_ fall for the cute eyes of the adorable danger-floof! Just tell her to wait till tomorrow… or next week. The first of March is on Wednesday, after all. [negation] [parameters]… [affection] just to make sure she knows I'm not really mad at her.

[agreement] she turns back, closes all the windows in two seconds, and shuts down the computer with practiced ease.

Woof! Good, don't want my computer to die on me! Now, to business!

"Alright, Queenie," speaking quietly (because, while Dad can't hear me downstairs with the TV on, I'm not taking chances), I put my bookbag on my bed, closely followed by myself, unpack the GED stuff, "I need you to go through this, give me a data packet on the ans-…" why is she being really still-oh.

I'm getting another blank stare, here.

By Saint Carlin's most magnificent sweater-vest, _fine!_ [proposal]

[agreement] Queenie flaps over to my bed and, using a wingtip, pages through the provided book containing my work for the month of March, memorizing everything with ruthless efficiency and owl-y speed.

Giving her an affectionate scratch on the head (her fur and feathers are cool to the touch, and slightly rough, like a cat I suppose), I lean back against the wall, close my eyes, and open up my power.

Time to see how the Bay goes about its day…

Stop rhyming, Taylor.

[1.4]

Ow, my proverbial _ear!_ Are cars really that _loud?!_ Ugh, tune out the sound of Friday night traffic, check on people I know.

My first stop is Emma's house, where she's getting an earful from _both_ her parents. Loud though it is to me, or, um, my bugs, her ears will probably be ringing badly come tomorrow morning. Serves you right, traitor! On top of that, I've got you tagged with a couple bedbugs! Cross me again, I'll make it look like wholly deserved karma!

Ah, catharsis. Now to check on the other and far more important pain in my side…

…Sophia Hess is in the PRT building, underground, presumably the Ward's base. Tagged her earlier today, at Winslow, with a flea, carefully hidden in those braids of hers. Glance through a passing falcon's eyes; multiple stars in the same location, including one that was on the Rig last night. Not many dust mites in the room she's in, or the surrounding area. Hmm… I'll have to fix that.

[destination: Ward's base]  
[proposal: reconnaissance]  
[dust mites: 500]  
[parameters: 3 day-cycles]

Queenie sends an [agreement], I send a [commence], she tags several dust mites scattered nearby for the mission, I help her by adding some near the _alleyway_ (remembering Armsmaster's words on patrol routes from earlier), clumping them together and marking each of the capes in the Ward's base with a dust mite in the small of their backs for tracking purposes… mostly in case they get attacked by another cape, whether in their civilian identity or out on patrol; this way, I'll be able to find them and offer assistance.

The 500 little spies we've selected should, if everything goes right, sneak their way into the base over the next three days and… hide under the quite frankly _huge_ sofa in the Ward's common room.

Once done, not only will I get better auditory input on how things are done in the Wards program, I'll get a better layout of their base. This will be useful if I ever get the spontaneous desire to join said program.

This, quite frankly, doesn't look like a very likely possibility, even with the potential budget for building up my swarm, help with my costume and PR, not to mention the fast-track into Arcadia, seeing as SOPHIA FUCKING HESS IS **_SHADOW STALKER_**!

What in the actual _deep-fried, BDSM-over-afternoon-tea_ (as I've said, my neighbors have _weird kinks_ ) _**hell**?!_ I've been bullied by a god-damn _hero?!_ What kind of shit is _this_?!

Wait, don't all the Wards have some sort of oversight?! Yeah! This means I can just waltz over to the PRT building and…

Blackwell.

There's no way she has no idea about Sophia being a Ward. And that means…

Oh my god, her treatment of me _makes sense!_ Winslow probably gets a stipend for having a Ward in attendance, just like Arcadia, and our Principal's just the kind of bitch to skim funds off the top of that stipend! Wait-holy _shit_ , she _is_ ; that bitch just got a brand new Tinker-fab (assembly line Tinker inventions, mass produced for public consumption; it's just as pretty and overpriced as you think) bulletproof Mercedes! Drove it up to school just before Christmas break! Fucking Blackwell sold me out for _money!_

Fucking hell, that bitch _let me get bullied!_ And she's probably got the money and connections, being a corrupt adult and all, to hire good enough lawyers to get me off her case, so I'll have to content myself with my current education status…

All said, I'm not complaining. I wasn't lying in the Principal's office; I'll be doing my best to just stay away from her, because _she's not worth it._

Yet; we'll see what opportunities the future presents.

But… what about the PRT agent who's supposed to be watching Shadow Stalker?! Where the fuck were _they… hold up…_

Oh _god, does the PRT fucking **know?!**_

 ** _Ohhh no. No. No, no, no, NO. –_**

Queenie pauses in her flipping of pages. [host], [data]. [concern].

Oh. I'm on the verge of having a panic attack. In related news, there are now thirty crows flying in a five block radius of my person, searching for whatever is causing me such distress.

Thank you, Queenie. [gratitude] I tell the crows to calm down, then work on doing that myself.

Okay, okay, Taylor, this isn't the end of the world. _Taylor,_ we've already established not everything about this situation is as it seems _._ Calming thoughts, think calming thoughts. Warm breezes, daily mugs of nice warm tea, chocolate fountains, happy places; I mean, and let's not jump to conclusions here, tearing apart the Protectorate and PRT over your personal beef is, obviously, an extremely bad idea, seeing as that way lands you in the Birdcage, if not get yourself killed, think _logically_ …

I mean, yeah, sure, the fucking bitch made you trigger; she destroyed your mother's flute and shoved you in _the locker_ ; she's made your life hell for the past year and a half, _somehow_ stole your best friend, and forced you to resort to desperate measures to ensure your abilities aren't outed. From the moment you met the girl, Sophia Hess has been an irritating, vile, repugnant, vicious _cow_ and hasn't _ever_ given you reason to assume otherwise.

But she's a _hero?_ A _Protectorate-approved_ hero?!

No _way_ would someone like Miss Militia, the Ward's primary overseer, or Armsmaster for that matter, let something like a _Class 2 biohazard_ go uninvestigated! Unless….

Unless the PRT agent's _in on it_ and isn't reporting on Shadow Stalker's doings in her civilian identity, _or_ this is just Blackwell being a stupid bitch and not reporting any of the complaints regarding Sophia Hess I've filed with her office to the PRT.

Either is possible, but one is a _lot_ worse than the other.

Because if you can't trust the PRT to do the right thing, in a world populated by The Fallen, The Teeth, Slaughterhouse Nine, and the Empire 88, who _can_ you trust?

There's more to this than meets the eye… more research is required!

So thinking, I [refine] the previous [proposal] with an increased interest on Hess' movements and conversations. Yeah, I know, creepy as all fuck, but I need to know how she acts outside the halls of Winslow… assuming there's any change at all.

What? She's a bitch. I'm just wondering whether that bitchiness is a part she's playing for social status, a cover so no one outs her as Shadow Stalker, or if that bitchiness is all-natural and the other Wards are being subjected to it.

If the situation's more to the latter… I'll wait until she goes out on patrol. Annoy her with _birds_.

Once done, I… I need to think about this… I mean, I can't really put something like this off! Holy shit and deep revelation, _Sophia Hess is a hero_. This line of thought needs to be examined, more for my own closure than any other reason.

Right, so, according to Armsmaster, Hess is just as pissed as I am about the _alleyway_. Okay, sort of weird… oh, right, she was a vigilante before becoming a Ward. Damn, so she must've seen shit like that while patrolling the Docks.

Not fun… also, kind of explains her demeanor. _Kind of._

So… she doesn't know I'm the one who found the body, _probably_ , because things like that aren't supposed to be spread around. _Armsmaster_ might know, Director Piggot too, but Shadow Stalker isn't exactly top brass in the PRT.

She _is_ , however, one of their best; she survived the Docks, tangled with the likes of Oni Lee, Skidmark, and Stormtiger.

No one can go through fighting those monsters and look at the world the same as the more ignorant members of society. Not from where I'm sitting. Not after seeing the girl in the alleyway.

If Sophia Hess, Shadow Stalker, is naïve, then I'm Abraham Lincoln.

While I _do_ have something of a height advantage, and would probably look bad-ass in a top hat, no way am I pulling off that beard. But that's enough about cosplaying as a President.

Given all this information… Great, now not only am I wondering if Shadow Stalker has her own owl-y friend to confide in and assist her, she doesn't know that _I_ found the body, and, therefore, doesn't know that we might have something in-

' _Hold the fuck up, Taylor!'_ I stop myself, _'Are you_ actually _trying to find common ground with_ Sophia fucking Hess?! _Have you finally lost your mind?!'_

Fuck no, I haven't lost my mind!

…okay, _maybe_ a little. But that's not the point!

The point here is that, despite my _completely bullshit-awesome_ powers, I'm one person. One one-hundred-and-sixteen pound, 15-year-old girl with virtually no experience in fighting other capes… and I _just so happen_ to want to be a fucking _heroine_.

Not for the fame.

Not for the toy deal.

Not for the excitement, the adventure, or the daytime talk show appearances!

(I could do without the last one, honestly, but PR is a fact of life for superheroes)

I want to be a heroine because I want to _help people_. I want to give them _hope_ , in a world where people like Oni Lee and Hookwolf, with their Birdcage orders, are allowed (by _Alexandria_ , no less, who could no doubt get both of them in cuffs while out on an afternoon stroll) to walk around free in the street (yes, I've been a busy owl today; saw both of those assholes through some sparrow's eyes while simultaneously watching Dad tear Mr. Barnes a new one over the phone). I want my city to be _safe_ , to ensure everyone can walk around without the fear of getting stabbed, shot, robbed, or _worse_.

As such, I need a first-hand account, maybe a partner; and while I'd sooner slide down a razorblade into a pool of iodine than trust _Sophia Hess_ with my back…

I couldn't discount the possibility she'd have information that'd be useful when it came time to hit the Docks.

 _Fuck._ I'll… I'll have to come back to this, once I have more information…

…And _maybe_ after annoying the fuck out of her for a bit with _birds_. Nothing severe, of course, but nothing ruins one's day like bird crap in your hair!

See, nothing overtly villainous, just a little bit of petty revenge for _the locker_. Good girl, Taylor! Also, I might be able to find Mom's flute. That'd be a nice bonus…

But enough about that _total bitch,_ onto other matters.

I give the Docks a brief scan, the listening arrays Queenie set up earlier giving me their [data] reports; huh, crows can act as portable disk drives so I can listen to conversations that occurred hours ago? Who knew?

Then again, they _are_ pretty close to human in their intelligence. No sense of the passage of time beyond day and night, though; hey, there's an idea! Once I figure out how to put time stamps on such observational [data], I'll be the best investigative cape _ever_ ; on the other hand, if I do something like that and it becomes common knowledge, I might as well add Stanger to that Master and give the entire PRT-ENE security department a collective aneurism as they try to secure themselves out of sheer paranoia.

Hence, not only should I not talk about how smart crows _really_ are (yet, they shall have their day in National Geographic or my name isn't Taylor Hebert!), I shouldn't abuse their abilities… _much_. Or, if I do, not for my own gain; I must remain on the side of good, if not for my own sake, then for Dad and public safety's sake.

Odd credo, going into the superhero business, but knowing I can recreate the classic horror movie _Birds_ without much effort isn't as emotionally satisfying as the idea of making Brockton Bay safe to live in, instead of safe to _visit_. But back to the [data] Queenie's little helpers found for me!

Hmm… there's a lot to sort through… I wonder…

Right, Queenie, help me out here…

[proposal] [parameters] [auditory recon: Docks]  
[refine: [faction: Merchants] [key: alleyway, [data]]

All of that to ask, "Could you search all of these auditory recordings from our swarm on the Docks and find one's pertaining to the Merchant's crime near the Boardwalk yesterday?" That little bit of [data], my memories of _the alleyway_ and Armsmaster's briefing, should help narrow down the…

[data]

… _double hold the fuck up._ One of those feels… _likely_.

[data] [auditory recon: Docks] [faction: Merchants] [key][parameters]  
[auditory record] [activated]

 _Uneven steps in a room, pacing, male, sounds bored, "…alleyway. Should'a brought the bitch back h-"_

 _Sound of someone tapping plastic buttons, gunfire from a TV, video game, nasally, annoying voice, "Dude, fuck off. Lonnie and Stu got slotted for that shit. You_ know _the bosses are pissed, what with those fucking goodie-goodies trompin' all over the place, now."_

 _"I'm_ just sayin' _, bro. If we'd brought her back here instead of listenin' to Stu an' leavin her in the alley, we wouldn't be bored outta our fuckin' skulls… hiding like fucking rats."_

 _"Hmm… true, true… Too late to do anything now, though, so quit yer bitchin'. 'Sides, we got away with it, bosses didn't kill us, made sure we keep an eye on the stash and not get caught, so no problem, right?" couch sitter shifts, looks in pacer's direction._

 _"Shit yeah, no problem! You heard her moanin once I got-" confident, probably isn't lying, sounds like he's reminiscing on good times._

 _Turns gaze back to game, speaks in an agreeing if tired tone, "Dude, I was_ there _, course I heard her beggin for more, now shut it, gotta focus."_

 _One keeps pacing, muttering under his breath, occasionally twitching. He might be on drugs._

 _A minute later, the sound of buzzing on the ratty couch, gamer picks up a phone, "…Yo, Mick's coming by. Go down to the stash and fix 'im up a quarter."_

 _Other human stops pacing around, "Shit, least they still trust us with sellin' and the stash."_

 _"See what layin' some regular pipe on Squealer gets ya, bro? Hurry up, he'll be here in five."_

 _"Pssh, right. Nigga's gonna take twenty, and you kno-"_

[cease!]

The [data] stream ends; a quick twitch of my power finds the house in question. Not far from the Boardwalk, not too far into the Docks that it impinges on ABB territory. No overt gang tags, a couple prostitutes on the far corner, two-story house, appears abandoned but clearly isn't, small enough to go unnoticed, not _too_ run down. Needs a new roof; no holes or anything, but I'm feeling some carpenter ants up there...

I send a sparrow to check the place out, hatred burning in my gut; no fire escape, but the back door leads to a stairwell and another door, to the ground floor. While watching, a skinny, pasty guy comes out of the basement door, tossing a small Ziploc bag of brown powder into the air and catching it, and goes through the ground floor door.

He and mister couch potato are the only two people in the house, but given the amount of filthy dishes in the sink and the mattresses both upstairs and on the ground floor, they might not be the only ones living there. A party house, maybe.

Also, the odds of that bag's contents, along with that of the fifteen larger plastic bricks behind a removable panel in the basement's wall, being brown sugar are roughly the same as me spontaneously winning the lottery without buying a ticket.

 _'Target acquired.'_ Now…

I'll go over a plan of attack with Queenie, once I'm done here…

An update brushes my senses; Sophia's left the Wards base with another cape. Crow says it's Clockblocker; good human, makes other humans laugh, very good at fighting. I'm of the same opinion. Plus, I mean, come on!

He has such a silly name! The PRT PR Department must've had kittens, when he declared himself on live TV! Nice costume, too. Kinda ostentatious, honestly… the PR department's fault, no doubt; another point against them, for failing to make their capes intimidating. It's a street war, not the fashion show runway.

Wait, who the hell am I to critique someone else's fashion sense, or an organization's lack thereof? Get it together, Taylor.

I order three crows to discreetly follow the pair, with the intention of figuring out how the Wards function in the field; or, better yet, how Sophia interacts with them.

Right, that's enough for one night…

[1.4]

Coming back to myself, I realize my hands are hurting a little.

Oh. I've been clenching my fists ever since finding out about Hess and her cape identity. Red marks from my nails, ow.

 _'Fuck. Just… fuck.'_ Hands on my face, I sigh in frustration, _'No, Taylor. Don't lose faith in the PRT, not over Hess… one bad apple doesn't_ actually _spoil the bunch.'_

Hell, if that was the case, no one would buy apples at the grocery store. Bruises and what not.

Still… I'm planning on a little vigilante action of my own, before revealing myself to the public.

In particular, those _fucking rapist drug-addict shits –_ calm. I. _Must._ Be. Calm. Tea. Mug of tea in easy reach. Oh, sweet, calming tea, how I've missed you.

I couldn't kill them; I mean, yeah, sure, I _could_ , but that wasn't heroine behavior. I was a Master, the PRT didn't like Masters, and, therefore, a Master using their abilities to kill people is a big, fat _no-no_.

Unless it's, like, the Slaughterhouse Nine or something…

So… how do I do this without coming off as a villain or loose cannon?

…

Hold on a tick!

I look down at Queenie, who's nearly finished analyzing my GED work.

One of the first things I'd asked of her was ' _Make me a hero that people can trust and believe in.'_ She didn't, at the time, know how to actually _do_ that, but, maybe now she'd ravaged the internet for information…

What the hell, worth a shot. [proposal: make [host] a heroine] [report [progress]]

Queenie blinks and goes _really_ still.

An awkward silence follows, broken by the distant sound of police and/or ambulance sirens and occasional dog bark.

Queenie looks in my direction-

-and I feel like someone whacked me lightly between the eyes with a small mallet.

.

[proposal]: _make_ [host] _a_ [heroine]

[calculating…] [processing…]

[completion]

[review] [proposal] [parameters]

[estimate] [priority]: _High, long-term_

[set] [proposal] [priority]: [PRIMARY]

[definition]: [heroine]

[understanding]

[complexity]

[threats]: [list]]

[sub-proposal]: [costume] [parameters] [progress]: [87% completion]

[suggestion] [weaponry]: [non-lethal deterrents [list]] [firearms [list]] [melee: blunt [list]] [melee: edged [list]]

[suggestion] [redoubt [possibilities [list]]

[suggestion] [species [list]]: [genetics] [evolution] [refinement]]

{[factions] [proposal] [success] [probability] [list]}  
[Protectorate: 12%]  
[New Wave: 8%]  
[Other [foreign]: 1%]  
[infiltration [faction: villain [sub-faction: [any]]: 29%]  
[[host]/[Shard] [recruitment] [faction]: 89%]

[conclusion] [[host]/[Shard] [faction]: 89%] [optimal] [proposal]

[observation] [quotation: "Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it."] [understanding] [examples [list]]

[observation] [Protectorate: Triumvirate] [comparison] [Ancient Romans: Triumvirate] [similarities: [list]]

[conclusion] [Protectorate: Triumvirate] [inferiority]  
[superiority] [Administration] [hierarchy] [community] – {[faction]: [host]/[Shard]} [superiority]

[observation] {[social patterns] [economy] [assets]}  
[[data] insufficient] [request]

[suggestion] [tactics] [Administration]  
[[historic]examples]: [Rome] [Parthia] [Macedonia] [Modern]

[parameters] [positive] [list]

[parameters] [negative] [list]

…

[host], [Shard] [belief] [trust] [understanding]

[host], [assurance] [pride] [trust [Danny Hebert]]

[reassurance]: [education] [proposal [list]]

[confidence]: [host] [proposal] [success]

[insistence]: [host]/[Shard] [faction] [creation] [unification]

[suggestion] [inspiration]:  
[Quotation]: [Marcus Tullius Cicero]:  
["Where is there dignity unless there is honesty?"] [understanding]  
["Let your desires be ruled by reason"] [understanding]  
["We must not say every mistake is a foolish one"] [understanding]  
["The welfare of the people is the ultimate law"] [understanding]  
["Endless money forms the sinews of war"] [understanding]

[prompt?] [understanding?]

.

And I'm back in my room.

All of that knowledge was sent directly into my head, carefully sorted into… like, a memory filing cabinet, ready for my perusal.

Everything I need… to become a heroine.

Complete with quotes of a Roman statesman; unsurprising, given she's _Queen Administrator_ , but the rest was so…

And not just that, but… _god_ , so much _more_! How to do it in such a way that I avoid the pitfalls of others, how to form and lead my own team, how to be unpredictable with my swarm, use them effectively; is this what she's been doing all day?! Accumulating information so she can help me achieve my dream?

I've really, _really_ , underestimated this owl.

Queenie's staring at me, chest puffed out in pride, looking like the _amazing, wonderful little helper she is_.

' _She believes in me; in_ me _, scrawny, gawky, lanky Taylor Anne Hebert. She believes I can make the world better!'_ that does it! I'm getting this owl some bacon, once Dad leaves for Boston.

My eyes are burning, "Queenie… _y-you… really think I-I… oh, you wonderful owl, you!"_ [destination], because I _so_ need a hug!

[agreement] her little, fabulous brow nuzzles into my chest while I hug her.

A couple minutes of happily crying later, the enormity of what Queenie's suggesting hits me.

' _She wants me to create my own superhero team; given what we've found out about the Protectorate so far, not all that surprising. Hmm, alright, I'll roll with it. So, all I need to do is this: accumulate currency; slowly gain influence through mystery and rumor; find somewhere to store my swarm and house my allies… I'll have to figure out how to deploy them, too… I need to scout out the other Parahumans here in Brockton Bay, maybe in the surrounding area, so I can form my own PRT-affiliated team…'_ Wait… why do I need to do that bit aga – oh, _right_.

Because the Protectorate, Wards and PRT are softballing all these violent villains, some of who, like Hookwolf, Oni Lee and Skidmark, to name a few, _belong_ in the fucking _Birdcage._ Also, Sophia Hess is Shadow Stalker; the PRT loses massive respect points from me for letting her do as she pleases, on top of everything else. Hence, I'd need my own group of like-minded individuals to help bring these true criminals in.

Given Director Piggot's, from what I can tell so far, no-nonsense, pragmatic attitude, she might just get on board with something like that, so long as I present it in a way that makes her office look good.

On the other hand, given how dangerous the guy is (six rouge vigilantes killed in the last two years), I might have to push for a kill order on Hookwolf – no, Taylor dear; thinking too far ahead there. First things first!

I need some fuckin' money.

Hmm, so should I get a job or… Ooooh, that's an idea… but, hmm, yeah, it'll be pretty dangerous… Maybe… Sunday night? Hmm, yep, or, wait, should I really jump the- no, don't hesitate. Hesitation is the death of armies, nations, and empires, as Queenie's told me. I _need_ funds, they _have_ funds, I'm a heroine, they're working for villains. QED, you drug addict rapist fucks!

Or: I'm going to hit that stash house with Queenie, arrest those rapist pigs, put maggots and earwigs in their drug stash, and stea-ahem, I mean _appropriate_ all their money. Then tie up those pigs and leave them dangling from a streetlight in front of the nearest police station.

Do this right, and I'll be an urban legend by Monday afternoon. Like Mothman. Or Ruin. Or the Loch Ness-

Blink.

… _Leviathan?_

I shake my head; no, that's _ridiculous!_ Save those thoughts for the shower, girl! Time's wasting here!

[proposal] [reconnaissance] [assault] [Merchant stash house]

[refinement] [Administration] [minimal requirements]: [moth [Blinded Sphinx]: 100-300*] [cockroach: 500] [wasp [Great Black, Mud Dauber]: 70] [* _higher number for potential_ [assault]] [parameters?]

Queenie, you beautiful, beautiful owl, you! Fuckin' [agreement!] oh, and [commence]

"Taylor!" calls Dad, "Food's ready!"

Wai-huh-whaaa? I look at my clock; we only just got ba-

 _7:26 PM_

Huh. I've been up here for two hours?! Damn.

"Coming!" Wait… what do I do with Queenie? Hmm…

[destination] or, as I vocally order her, "Go out flying for the night, Queenie. Those bugs aren't going to find themselves, after all!" I open the window for her, giving my smart little assistant a grin as she hops up to the ledge.

[agreement] [refinement] Oh, fine! I'll exercise again once dinner's done.

I watch Queenie until she vanishes into the night, then head downstairs to enjoy a delightful dinner with Dad.

All the while, I ignore the butterflies swarming in my stomach.

' _It's a little earlier than I'd have liked,'_ I think while vehemently agreeing with Dad's idea that we go out and see a movie tomorrow, _'but if I don't take care of these fuckers_ now _, they're going to get away, or someone else will do it for me.'_

Yeah, like I'm going to let that happen! This is _personal!_ No, more than personal; if these assholes get away, then the people of Brockton Bay won't be able to sleep at night, knowing they could go and do it again!

Well, not on my watch, fellas! This owl is coming for you!

Just like I'm going to get Sophia back for _the locker_ , these crooks are going to wish they never killed that girl in the alleyway, once Queenie and I get through with them!

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 **a/n: Adorable danger-floof for the win!**

 **EDIT: Okay, I couldn't explain the changes to this story yesterday because, well, _work_.**

 **The short of it is this: I posted the Prologue of this story without running it by my pre-reader or with a finished outline. My pre-reader came back from vacation, saw it, and _very nearly_ beat my skull in with a copy of Marcus Auriellius' _Meditations_. Not a light book, if you must ask. Once the ringing in my ears died down and I calmed my contemporary partner in fanfiction, she begrudgingly helped me with the outline; ten minutes later, we both realized the same thing:**

 **By the third act, Taylor's scene in the Prologue, as well as _some_ of Lisa's, doesn't make sense anymore. Hence me scrapping the whole thing.**

 **The story still reads and flows well enough for what it is, so no worries! I'm not going to scrap the whole thing.**

 **If you happened to have read that thing I wrote stream of consciousness with barely a plan to continue it, just forget it ever happened. _Please._**

 **Um... yeah, and if you have any questions regarding the story that don't involve potential spoilers, hit that review button and I'll answer at the end of the next chapter!**

 **And no, Coil is _much_ more slippery in this than in canon, so Taylor's not going to find out about him for a good bit. You'll find out why eventually.**

 **~Baked**


	5. Muster 5: Gird

**.**

 **Wildbow owns Worm, _thank god!  
_ Like, can you imagine how crappy it would've been?  
If Michael Bay wrote it?  
*shudder***

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 **[INTERFACE]**

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 **Muster 1.5  
Gird**

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[data] [auditory recon: Wards] [subject: Shadow Stalker]  
[auditory record] [activated]

 _The sounds of the Boardwalk night life echo over the rooftop, where Shadow Stalker and Clockblocker are taking a break on their patrol._

 _Clockblocker breaks the silence, "So… what's got you so mad about what happened in this alleyway?"_

 _Shadow Stalker doesn't answer for a moment, "You hear about that girl they found on Thursday morning?"_

 _"Y-oh._ Ohh. _So this is where she died, huh?"_

 _He gets a grunt for an answer. Shadow Stalker moves closer to the roof edge, examining the surrounding area briefly, then walks back over to her lunch bag; fifteen dust mites are now clinging to the fibers, ready for their mission to scout the Ward's base._

 _She picks it up, fastening it under her cloak, "I'm hoping the fuckers that did it come back around so we can bag them. This is_ our _turf."_

 _"Ah," Clockblocker nods sagely, "Yeah, it doesn't look too good on us, something like that happening so close to the Boardwalk. I see what you meant, what you said to KW last week, about heroes and gangs."_

 _Shadow Stalker scoffs, "It's Piggy's fucking fault; she won't let us take the fight to the gangs-"_

 _"I think she's more concerned – okay, maybe not_ concerned _, but Piggot probably doesn't want to explain why we got slaughtered by Oni Lee for trespassing."_

 _"Tch. Fuck him."_

 _Clockblocker's tone is joking, "Oh, wow, Stalker, didn't know you were into villains like that. Should I warn the PHO boards you're not into Aegis anymore?"_

 _She looks at him, growling, "Stop. Talking._ Now. _" He raises his hands in surrender, doesn't reply. Silence for a moment, both Wards checking their phones, then Stalker starts muttering, "Fucking PR goons, fucking PHO."_

 _"If it's any consolation, Aegis doesn't like that thread either. But, well, you know how it is; what can you do?... and hey, at least you don't have to put up with being paired with_ Kid Win _, like I do."_

 _"At least in_ that _case, you frilly fags are a match made in heaven."_

 _"Oof, my poor, innocent heart! Why do you hurt me so, miss tall dark and scary?"_

 _"Because it's easy and takes my mind off other shit…" both go silent… until Queenie has a crow 'drop its load' on Stalker's head when she starts scanning the street, "What the fuck?!"_

 _"Bah-hahahaha! See, that's what you get for insulting your allies, Stalker!"_

 _"Fucking bird! I just washed this cloak too!" she takes out a cloth and starts furiously wiping the top of her hood, "Did I get it all?"_

 _"Nope." Clockblocker pops the "p", "That bird must've been holding it all day just for you, Stalker. It's_ everywhere!"

 _"God_ damn _it! Well, don't just stand there laughing like an idiot! We gotta get back on patrol in," she checks her phone, "…shit, four minutes. Help me clean this off!"_

 _He approaches, slowly and with a put-upon sigh, "Fine, fine, but you're paying me back with a spar tomorrow night."_

 _"Yeah, whatever. Just hurry the fuck up."_

[cease]

[1.5]

Dad's bags are packed, money for the week is in an envelope, hidden in the junk drawer in the kitchen, and the movie we went out to see, an Earth Aleph movie about blue aliens and nature worship that came out two years ago, was a good call on Dad's part. Not a bad way to spend the day after all the excitement of yesterday. He's asleep now, so I'm taking the chance to review scouting [data] while trying on my now finished costume!

I wonder, idly, if I could recreate the whole "nature rises up to destroy the villains" bit from the end of the movie; that would be _so cool_ , if scary to see. Good thing I'm a heroine, or someone seeing me take down some big baddie might just jump the gun and activate the Endbringer sirens in their panic.

Questions for another day. Tonight, I'm examining Queenie's finished work, and then, if my costume is to my liking, I'll be trying out a few other power-related things…

Queenie, that wonderful, brilliant not-an-owl-but-close-enough, managed to infuse cockroach shell fragments in the woven strands of spider silk to give the appearance of great horned owl feathers; in other words, once the costume's snugly hugging my lanky frame and I look in the mirror down here in the basement, I find my appearance looking like the world's skinniest owl.

At least my thighs are getting wider, little by little; good news is that I really pull the look off, with my wide eyes and round glasses!

It took me nearly an hour, earlier, to get my unreasonable hair behaving to the point where putting it into two braids, linked together at my collarbone, was feasible; bound together with a white hair tie, I now looked rather dashing and cute! Not to mention older and regal, like… well, like someone important, rather than a no-name heroine about to test the limits of her power.

On to the hooded vest, patterned the same as the suit, except with a folded wing pattern on the back; made from thousands of bug shells and spider silk, it would, once put on, protect my entire torso, front, back and sides from everything short of a straight-shot bullet… I hope. I pick it up and put my arms though, shoulder pauldrons connecting to the overall suit via tiny hooks, manipulated by jumping spiders moving through small tunnels Queenie built into the armor. Clasps on the front secure the armored vest to my person, held together with the same retractable, Velcro-like hooks.

In seconds, the whole thing save the hood is hugging my body like a second skin. Queenie apparently made it a size larger than me, so I can grow into it, but also made it capable of adjusting to my current size so it wouldn't shift around while in motion; I feel a rush of heat to my cheeks at her thoughtfulness. _'One large pack of bacon,'_ I think, reaching for the pile that held my remaining armor pieces: clawed gauntlets, shin-guards and, of course, owl-theme mask, _'as soon as Dad leaves for Boston, before hitting the Merchants, I'm making that gorgeous owl the best platter of bacon ever.'_

More straps of spider silk are fastened, tightened and checked for stability; I run through a basic series of karate moves (courtesy Queenie; jeez, but she was busy yesterday!), ordering the little spiders in the armor to make necessary adjustments to the stabilizing hooks.

Don't want any of the bits to go flying off me at an inopportune moment, like during a fight or something; I may not be going out on patrol _tonight_ , but, yeah, gotta make sure I don't make a fool of myself _tomorrow_ night, when I _do_ go out.

The last piece, the owl mask; blue-eyed lenses glare up at my face beneath twirling Queenie brows. The hood of my vest has a point at the front, so, once the mask goes on my face, those brows will arc back slightly over the sides of the hood.

Overall, it was both menacing and _really_ pretty! The feather patterns on my mask glimmered very slightly in the basement's low light; three straps inside my hood would hold it to said fabric/armor, while two other buckles on the mask itself go over the top of my head and beneath my twin braid, so my face would be protected if my hood gets torn off.

On the mask goes, bathing my world in baby blue light, with small flecks of yellow illuminating the darker corners of the basement; Queenie'd sacrificed one of her feathers to produce this effect. If it was too dark for blue light to penetrate, the insides of the lenses would shift to yellow to help my night vision.

I chalked it up to another way in which Shards had weird and bullshit abilities; besides, there's one other thing more pressing than how my power, with its fewer restrictions, functions.

That was Shadow Stalker's conversation with Clockblocker, yesterday night.

Over the course of the day, I found myself replaying that short interaction on the rooftop whenever the chance presented itself. On one hand, Clockblocker seemed to take all of Sophia's bitchiness in stride and with good humor, so, yeah, props to the clock guy for not letting her get under his skin.

Still, some of said bitchiness seems to stem from Stalker taking her job _very_ seriously; given her previous duties as a rogue vigilante, that sort of attitude isn't all that surprising. Hell, it's basically common sense in a city like this one! I could see where her mindset needs some work, however.

First and foremost, she seems to have that 'lone wolf' mindset ingrained into her being; why Emma decided to hang out with such a stone-cold bitch was beyond me, to say nothing of Sophia's general attitude. It seemed she hated weakness and inaction, but, given that she's not, apparently, very smart, and more than a little cocky, her bitchiness makes more sense to me than it did at Winslow.

That, and it's not a very healthy attitude to have, being a part of the group of high-profile, up-and-coming young heroes and heroines that is the Protectorate Wards; shitty life in the Bay notwithstanding, a good philosophy when becoming a hero or heroine is to leave your personal feelings at the door and only invite them in when there's a morally questionable choice before you. After all, when in doubt, go with your moral compass.

Sophia seems to have missed that life lesson.

I know why she's not very happy at the moment, as well: Emma's fucking _grounded!_ Like, _super_ grounded; no phone, no internet, and her dad called the school, telling them to suspend her if they find she keeps associating with Sophia. Blackwell, no doubt fearing for her now-shaky reputation, agreed, making sure Sophia's mom was informed before the sun set today.

Of course, those two bitches blamed the whole thing on me… for once, they're _nearly_ right on the money! Sure, I told Dad and unleashed the Wrath of House Hebert on Emma's stupid ass, but, at the end of the day, I don't really care what they do in their private social lives… except Sophia; as a heroine, she should be holding herself to a higher standard, both in and out of costume, than what I've experienced and observed, shitty time that she no doubt had as a vigilante be _damned_.

On the other hand, what I've seen of Sophia's home life really makes me appreciate Dad all the more, despite his sporadic presence in my life, as well as wonder if her antagonistic nature has a reasonable cause.

Why? Sophia has a stepfather. A stepfather who, according to the crows I have watching her house, _checks her out_ at nearly every opportunity. I've seen her flinch slightly, as well, whenever he comes too close for comfort. Her mother, on the other hand, is a timid and submissive presence in the household, not at all like Sophia herself; said teenage doesn't seem to have much respect for her, which, given Sophia's temperament, isn't too surprising, though rather worrying.

Not that it stopped me from having a pigeon crap on her backpack this afternoon, as she went into the Ward base, but that's personal; _this_ is potential felony territory, if I'm reading everything right.

There's something fishy going on there, possibly diabolic. Though I hate the bitch with the rage of a thousand dying stars, if her attitude toward me is the result of a shitty home life…

Damn, I didn't think I'd ever actually feel bad for kneeing Sophia fucking Hess in the groin, but, well, looks like my sense of empathy's done it again!

I shake my head, clearing away these thoughts, _'I can't be distracted by Hess' home life, no matter how poor it might be. Become a hero first,_ then _start being a good Samaritan.'_ I made for the basement stairs, checking the crows around the house, including the one holed up in my room, keeping an eye on my alarm clock (2:15 AM), as well as the locations of other Parahumans around the Bay.

Hess was in bed, as were most of the other Wards; Armsmaster and Miss Militia were the only two Protectorate members out on patrol right this second. Velocity and Dauntless were on the Rig. Pretty much every Parahuman I could see was either asleep or not on my planned route for the night.

Yeah, Hookwolf, I see your fugly ass strutting around in the distance! You just… stay all the way over there! Good boy! Yeah, you don't want none of this!

…and, quite frankly, I don't want any of _you_ , now or, hopefully, _ever._ Let someone better equipped to deal with you… deal with you.

Oh, and the neighbors are all asleep. Good. I take a few deep, calming breaths, square my shoulders, and step out the backdoor into the cool night.

Queenie's perched on the opposite side of the yard, on a fence post, staring directly into my eyes.

I gulp involuntarily, closing the door quietly, _'Time to see how this Shard Interface works…'_

[1.5]

I take a few moments to stretch; no sense pulling a muscle or something.

 _'And isn't that a thought! I'm about to grow a set of wings after merging with the crystalline, pan-dimensional manifestation of my power!'_ idly, I wonder if any other Parahuman has dealt with something like this; it didn't _seem_ likely, but, hey, what did I know? Maybe they're just really good at hiding it.

Carlin knows I'm not going to advertise my full abilities any time soon.

Moving to stand in the middle of the yard, I watch Queenie rustle her feathers and give off an owl-y shriek; I can sense her excitement, bleeding over whatever connects us.

Shard and Host. A power, and the worldly vessel for that power.

I shake my hands and feet out, trying to bleed off some of the lingering nervousness; hell, I'm just as excited as Queenie! I'm about to _fly!_

So thinking, I begin the process: [destination?] in this case, my right forearm, held up for her to perch on. Physical contact between avatar and host was a must in this case.

[agreement] spreading her wings, Queenie launches off the fence post and glides over to my arm; she isn't very heavy, but her forward momentum moves me a bit when she lands and looks right into my eyes while getting comfortable on an armguard, [parameters?]

Right, so she's asking for where she should place the Administrative boundaries and how much of her Shard mentality should bleed over into my consciousness. Hmm, well, I don't want to be overwhelmed, so… at 100% mentality dilation, I'd be handing my body and mind over to her in totality, so 5% should be good for this test run; as for the ranges…

Five miles isn't a small range by any sense of the word; there are towns smaller than five miles across out there. Also, I don't think I'll be using DSAF tonight or for the foreseeable future, so let's keep that at one millimeter.

Throw all that into [data].

Queenie gives her [agreement], followed by a chilly shiver working its way through my bones, starting in my right arm and spreading quickly throughout my body, as our respective minds and bodies prepare for a _very_ intimate joining. _'This is it…'_

Taking a deep breath before this plunge, I finalize the procedure:

[initialize] [Shard Interface]

[connecting…] [established]

And then everything _changed_.

[1.5]

Have you ever seen one of those pictures that, if you look at them cross-eyed and punch yourself in the face, make a three-dimensional picture? I mean, sure, you don't have to punch yourself in the face, but Mom said it helped her when she tried. Not the point.

Shard Interface is like the existential version of seeing that picture. A realization molded together with a transfiguration of self into something that shouldn't be but _is_ and it feels so _right!_

Before even opening my eyes, I'm aware of everything in my range, and can't turn it off, not that I want to! It's kind of cool, actually; around the edges of my 'vision', let's call it Shardsight, I'm sensing all of our [proposals] functioning with seeming autotomy, but are actually receiving constant updates from myself via supporting [data] packets pertaining to their [duties], all of which were being sent subconsciously. Additionally, I can select any one of those [proposals] to get real time updates or micromanage their composing forces!

So cool! No wonder Queenie always wants something new to do; the admittedly meager number of [proposals] I've sent her way are _barely_ taxing her full abilities!

I wonder if our mental link still works the same, or if it's different… only one way to find out!

[query] [Queenie, is this how you manage everything?] Huh, that's a little differen-

 **[response] [yes, Taylor. Is the current cognitive dilation ratio satisfactory?]**

Well, that answers that question and raises another _hundred, damn_ [assurance, surprise, observation] [Oh! Err, yeah, this is fine. Also, you sound like a deep-voiced woman.] I'll have to make more notes on this stuff later; honestly, is there any limit to my power's weirdness?

Sure, it was already weird, but hearing a robotic, flat-toned, female voice in my head is _really_ stretching the bounds of credulity and sanity!

 **[reminder] [I am one of EDEN's Shards, Taylor. All of her Shards have traits in line with the feminine species of the current Cycle. Did I not send you [data] on this?]**

[sheepishness, anxiety] [Um, I try not to think about that too much, Queenie. Anyway! Ahem…] [query] [Is our body fully transformed, or were there complications?] I ask because _I can't move!_

 **[apologies, assurance, data] [Forgive me, Taylor, I was making sure this interface module is up to durability standards, as outlined in my internal coding matrix. I also felt it would be best, given your emotional reactions and thought patterns, that you would like to take things slowly, hence my immobilization of our joined module. I shall now relinquish control of this module's head and eyes, that you may now visually examine our surroundings and person.]**

Oh. Well, that makes sense; I'm pretty sure I have hollow bones now, so it's only natural Queenie would need to make sure our Breaker form functions optimally, before we go for our first flight together.

Anyway, eyes open…

 _'Whoa…'_ Everything's so _vivid!_ I can still tell it's nighttime, what with the stars being out, but everything was so _clear!_ The grass, other houses, the trees and the crows watching me curiously, it's all lit up in my eyes like a sunny day! _'Wow, no wonder owls are nocturnal; night vision is_ awesome _!'_

Grinning widely, I look down at myself; not much of a visual change, beyond being around half a foot taller, talons for toes, three in front and one in back, my armor and gauntlets seem fused to my costume, and…

Ohhh-hoho, _wings baby, WINGS!_ I can _feel them_ , connected to my shoulder and chest muscles! Big, strong wings, folded against my back, the tips nearly at my ankles! Oh this is friggin' AWESOME! [query] [Are my wings fully functional?!]

 **[rebuttal, data] [ _Our_ wings, Taylor; in this form, the line between Shard and Host is all but nullified. All internal and external systems seem to be functioning as intended.] [caution] [We may now attempt ground-based movement; be advised, Taylor, that your physical attributes have increased, meaning that you are stronger, more durable, and faster than any baseline human.]**

Oh, so I shouldn't try running or jumping with all my strength. Well, I kinda figured I shouldn't before I made the decision to test this out tonight, so no worries there!

Okay… wings. [request] [Queenie, do you have any [data] tips on flying?]

 **[data, insistence] [Of course, but please test out ground-based movement first. I am unsure of the upper limits of this interface module; therefore, testing is required for further advice.]**

Right, gotcha.

I spend the next few minutes carefully getting a feel for this new body of ours, Queenie interjecting with [data] and [request]s every time we discover something new about Interface.

[incredulity] [There's really no other record of someone using Interface, Queenie? But… Miss Militia-]

 **[negation, data] [While the Implement Generator's host has impressive control over her limited abilities, according to our joint [observations], were said host in community with Implement Generator, these 'Endbringers' would cower in fear of their ability.]**

That's another thing; Queen Administrator has limited memories of what certain other Shards are capable of, so long as they came from EDEN, one of the two Entities who seeded powers amongst humanity on Earth Bet. The reasoning? Stress testing; each Shard is a tool the Entities use to manipulate reality in some way, shape or form, and seeding them amongst the dominant species of a planet is, generally, how the Entities fine-tune their Shards, usually through some conflict or other. The particulars are, unfortunately, beyond my knowing, even with Queenie aiding my Thinking abilities.

Not that I really _want_ to know more about the omnicidial space-whales, given that there's really nothing I can do about them right now, on top of everything else I have to worry about; as such, unless they become a visible threat, I'll leave them to perform this Shard testing in peace and let them live their space-whale-y lives.

And if they become threats? Birds. Birds _everywhere._

About ten minutes is all I really need to get a good feel for my new physicality; I can now jump over ten feet into the air without really trying, cross ten yards in a single bound, again, without really trying, and move through the self-defense forms Queenie's taught me (Muay Thai, karate, judo, and some limited Kung Fu) with the greatest of ease; that I now have _wings_ with a four-inch retractable bone spike hidden in each 'elbow' only solidified my estimation of the danger of owls, cuddly snuggle ninjas that they are.

[observation, readiness] [I think we're all good to go flying, Queenie!]

 **[affirmation, suggestion] [I agree, Taylor. May I suggest we keep to the treetops until leaving the city, so as not to attract undue attention from the PRT?]**

[agreement] [Well, _duh!_ I don't want to get outed this early!] I crouch in the middle of the backyard, spreading and tensing my wings in preparation for takeoff; I'm about to fly! Oh, I've always wanted to do this!

 **[reminder] [Taylor, our forces?]** Oh, yeah; I've spent the day gathering up samples of every insect in the city, arranging them into easy-to-carry balls formed from large centipedes and millipedes, so we can bring them with us on this nighttime excursion.

So thinking, I direct a few crows to come pick up the chitinous spheres resting near the fence; once done, Queenie directs them to our destination this night: an abandoned farm three miles outside the city limits. There's _ridiculous_ numbers of black widows on the property, along with a goodly population of brown recluses, five different types of wasp, thirty species of moth and butterfly, seven varieties of ants, along with all the other common insects like flies, gnats, mosquitos and dragonflies, to name a few.

It'll make a great base of operations, once I claim the place; there weren't many people living nearby, either, one suburban project and another farm, both within a mile of the property boundaries, the only significant concentrations of humans before reaching the edges of Brockton Bay's urban sprawl.

In short, the perfect spot to test my power and experiment with breeding my swarms; still need some form of organization and deployment for maximum effectiveness, but those were ideas for other days… err, nights.

Right now, _it's time to fly._

 _'Go, my children,'_ I think with happiness as the fifteen crows fly away west, a couple of the murder's younger members cawing in delight.

Tensing my legs, I feel for a strong air current coming off the Bay, and, once the breeze picks up enough-

Launch myself into the air, beating my new wings hard; my chest and back muscles shift into overdrive as I quickly gain altitude! Wind cupped beneath my pumping wings, I explode upward into the night!

Three seconds later, I'm forty feet off the ground; laughing loudly, I move my body parallel to the ground and glide my way west, periodically beating my wings to gain speed, quickly catching up to and then overtaking the crows!

[exclamation, excitement] [By George Carlin's magnificent goatee, I'M REALLY FLYING! THIS IS SO FUCKING AWESOME!]

 **[agreement] [It is a rather freeing feeling.]**

Childhood wish now fulfilled, I book it in the direction of the distant ring of lights, a parliament of owls orbiting the farm marking the final destination, spirits higher than I can remember!

[1.5]

I was still in high spirits the next morning, much to Dad's amusement; watching as he drove away south to Boston, I gave myself a mental pat on the back for my successful misdirection over breakfast.

Or: he thinks I'm all giddy and sunny over having the house to myself for the week. While that _is_ a happy bonus to my overall plans, it's not the primary cause.

Shard Interface is _incredible_ ; instant communication with Queenie, a single idea changing the way my swarm behaves, on top of being able to run a mile on the ground in _one minute_ without getting the least bit winded, capable of punching though a tractor's engine block with a single punch, _throwing_ a tractor engine block fifty yards from my person, oh, and the _ideas!_

It was the paper wasps in the barn that gave me the idea, last night, on how to deploy my swarm: huge portable hives! Mud daubers and paper wasps would make hive chambers together while thousands of black widows spun stabilizing webs, great sheets of silk for the inner walls and columns of rope to keep it all from falling apart; the end result would be a hive tall as a metro bus was long and half again as wide, but, according to Queenie's excited (she can't innovate like I can, it seems) number crunching, each hive would weigh around two hundred pounds empty, close to three hundred when full of chittering terrors.

How would I move them? Queenie picked the best owl out there for her physical avatar, and a quick check of my [data] packets gave me the idea to use just these owls for transport; a great horned owl can carry off prey weighing as much as 15 pounds, and can subsist off only a few ounces of food a day. Therefore, each hive would need, roughly, forty-five owls to get off the ground and fly for a mile or so, and, given how many insects and crustaceans I can control, won't require much effort to feed; I'd be bolstering those flyers with other local raptors, with shift changes for long distances.

Just one night playing on that empty farmstead filled six pages of my superhero journal with ideas on hive shapes, interior designs, and avian assistance in potential battles.

Oh, and the farm wasn't totally empty of items, either! Whoever owned the place must've left in a great hurry, what with all the debilitated furniture lying about; my best guess is that the previous owner left around the same time Lung came to the Bay, and decided to cut their losses before leaving with the barest essentials.

Given what Lung is allegedly capable of, I can't blame them. But if I ever find out who they were, I'm sending them a gift basket for leaving behind a sharp Bowie knife, still in its sheath, and a small box of rare coins from the early 1900's, buried in the barn.

Affixing the knife to my thigh in the kitchen, I smile at the memory of the pawn shop owner's face when I fronted up with _that_ little treasure. Luckily, he didn't ask questions, and I walked out of the store $800 richer.

I'm fairly sure I got ripped off, but no matter; I was about to make _thousands_ this evening, mainly because… well, while I'm fairly sure the Merchants pay the ABB and E88 so they can keep their drug peddling enterprise afloat, they're most certainly _not_ paying the people of Brockton Bay rent. That ends tonight.

Closer examination of the stash house revealed that three of those fifteen bricks in the basement were actually bundled wads of cash; morons though they definitely were, the two rapists overseeing that operation were careful enough in their comings and goings that no birds could get into the house, so I didn't know exactly how much money was down there, but the cockroaches currently making themselves cozy amongst the myriad bills were giving me the most important information on how much I was standing to appropriate: _a whole fucking lot of money._

Tagging a few of the Merchant enforcers also revealed three other stash houses, but, alas, these were outside my current range. For _now_ , heh-heh.

On goes my mask, Queenie nibbling on the bacon rasher she's been steadily working her way through over the course of the day; while she doesn't _necessarily_ need to eat, the silly danger-floof integrated taste buds into her physical avatar. On the plus side of things, anything she eats will bolster her durability! Queenie's now a more dangerous flying cuddle ninja than she already was!

Which reminds me: [query, proposal] [Our forces are in position, Queenie. Stop stuffing your face and get ready.]

After using Shard Interface for the first time, I've found our mental bond has become stronger than ever; I'm usually aware of where Queenie is, which way she's looking, and what Administrative project she's currently focusing on, in addition to actually _talking_ with the silly owl!

Though she still gives me a blank stare whenever I vocalize my requests.

To be perfectly honest, I think she's frustrating me as a form of weird, Shard-y entertainment.

Stupid danger-floof.

 **[rebuttal] [There is a human saying, I believe… ah, yes, "Pot, meet kettle".]**

THE FUCK?! That-bu-I mean – no! [retort] [Yeah, so I ate a whole large pizza for lunch! But that's so my body becomes stronger-]

 **[interruption, data] [As well as increasing the aesthetic properties of your body, yes, Taylor, I am well aware. I am merely attempting what you humans call "ribbing", an act of poking fun at another in a non-serious fashion.]**

Oh my god, the Shard-owl thinks it's a comedian. [review] [Leave the comedy to George Carlin, please. Also, _please_ don't poke fun at my physical attributes, or lack thereof.] Like I need another hit to my self-esteem after Winslow…

 **[apologies, assurance; suggestion] [I will endeavor to respect your wishes. Also, on review of [data] regarding human aesthetics and applying this to your physical appearance, your legs are your best attribute; I suggest you purchase tighter-fitting pantaloons on the morrow, so as to increase positive self-judgment in yourself, as well as attract potential mates whilst applying for employment opportunities, my host. Would you like [data] points concerning this logic? You seem confused by this reasoning.]**

My owl-masked-face hits the table, drawing a look of confusion from my owl-y assistant; I – I just… you know what? I'm chalking this up to Murphy taking a few jabs before leaving me alone for a couple more days. I've had it good lately, so the kind-of-but-not-an-owl critiquing my fashion sense and general appearance isn't the worst I'd thought would happen, once the God of Unfortunate Events finally noticed me being happy.

All the same, [theory, parameters] [I think our recent successes are scrambling your thought processes, my Shard. Therefore, once the current packet of bacon has been consumed and optimized into your physical avatar, I will not be purchasing more for the foreseeable future.]

 **[agreement, observation] [Whilst I disagree on your first point, Taylor, I agree on the second. Any funds you earn or appropriate should go toward repairing our chosen base of operations, as well as your primary abode. [list] These would be good projects to work on, once the current mission has concluded.]**

I lift my head and glare at my little helper, who is projecting an air of innocence despite suggesting I use the money I'm about to st- _appropriate_ to fix a few things she's noticed wrong about the Hebert household.

She's even citing specific zoning codes and inspection guidelines. ' _Little smartass. Never mind that Dad would notice and ask questions that I'd be uncomfortable answering.'_ With a sigh, I check the clock on the wall; 12:45 AM. On a Sunday night, too.

All the Bay is rather quiet as a result; Purity was out earlier, beat up some ABB gangsters who were burning a car near the Boat Graveyard, but now she's… wherever she goes when not out in costume. I'm not about to try finding out where; older woman that shoots death lasers, flies, and has a low brute rating, _no thank you very much!_

The Wards and New Wave are all asleep (I'm watching their Shard-lights from a distance! No more peeking on Glory Girl!), and the only members of the Protectorate on patrol are Battery (her Shard-light was the dim one I saw on the Rig, the first time I used my upgraded powers; maybe someday I'll understand what it means), Miss Militia (who doesn't seem to need sleep), and Armsmaster.

On that note, does Armsmaster even sleep?! I swear, I've watched him all day, and the guy only stopped working in what I assume is his lab for about an hour and a half before heading out on patrol; he's still out there, but closer to downtown than the Docks, dealing with a break-in at a convenience store, courtesy the E88.

 _'Good,_ ' I think, drifting my power over toward my target for this night, _'No one should be anywhere near-'_

 _Shit!_ Who's that?

Over near my target house, about two blocks from it actually, is another Parahuman, slowly creeping in its direction, taking the alleyways rather than the main roads. _'Oh, I know no one's about to get in on my action!'_

Right! Most of the moths are already in the backyard, clustered on the wall of an abandoned warehouse; there's some inside, fluttering around the two stoned fuck-wits watching… _erotica_ on their TV. Bad erotica. The kind with a shitty techno soundtrack.

I send a crow to fly over the possible interloper, but just for a brief glimpse, not wanting to frighten them; _definitely_ a Parahuman, their light like a rippling fur cloak inside their body. It makes their physical features hard to make out, but they appear to have a large dog or some other beast at their side, steadily getting closer to the building I intend to raid.

Hmm, maybe I'll know who they are if I know what their Shard is… [data] [Queenie! Do you recognize that Shard?]

A moment of silence, Queenie actually looking in the direction of the Docks, staring at the wall for 30 seconds before turning a serious look on me.

 **[Shard designation]: [Bio-Enhancement Arbiter]**

 **[observation, data] [Taylor, this is an Arbiter Shard, one of the middling Administration Shards distributed by EDEN. Its primary purpose is to improve the physical attributes of a given species; currently, it is restricted to animals classified in human science as _Canis lupus,_ or the grey wolf, with similar yet less potent effects regarding its myriad subspecies.]**

Not particularly worrying, given that I can control birds from miles away, but I don't like people interfering with my plans. On the other hand, there might be a chance of alliance here; best get a better idea of what this Shard is capable of. [query] [Master or Changer?]

 **[observation] [Given all members of that particular genus can be trained, I estimate the ability of this Shard as Changer 7/Master 6. Review of gathered Parahuman [data] suggests this individual is the villainous Parahuman Rachel Lindt, aka Hellhound, aka Bitch, who is classed as Master 6 by the PRT.]**

…That doesn't make any sense! Why would a villain attack other villains?!

Oh, wait. Lung and Kaiser would oh so dearly _love_ to tear each other apart.

Still, why here? Why now?

Why am I standing around dithering when it'll take me _two minutes_ to fly over and ask her?

So thinking, I send out orders to several dozen owls around the city, telling them to gather quietly in the area and keep a lookout; no sense giving Oni Lee, currently far into the Docks and looking in the direction of E88 territory, a reason to become curious on my first night out.

Thirty crows answer the call as well, the black murder moving to discreetly surround Hellhound. Queenie's [data] says she killed several people when she Triggered; if she tries that with me, I'll give Ms. Lindt a wake-up call she won't soon forget!

I manage all this while holding out my right forearm to Queenie, who leaps onto it after nearly swallowing an entire piece of bacon whole. _'I'll clean up the bacon when I get home,'_ I muse, striding purposefully out the back door and grabbing my finished messenger bag with my left hand, _'First, I have to clean up my city.'_

Locking the door and slinging the strap over my head, the bag proper hooking to my left hip the same way my armor connects to my base suit, I take a moment to center myself, preparing for my first encounter with another cape and putting paid to the Merchant's crimes.

One minute passes, where Hellhound arrives at the final alleyway and couch potato heads to the bathroom, junkie prepares himself another hit of whatever he's been injecting into his system, the erotica now a crappy movie about sharks and tornadoes.

My eyes snap open, lips pursed in determination. [initialize] [Shard Interface]

 **[connecting… established]**

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 **a/n: the next chapter of INTERFACE will arrive next year, featuring Taylor, Queenie, and Bitch kicking some Merchant ass!**

 **Guest: Queenie's getting those percentages from historic references, observed social patterns of the groups in question, Taylor's observed capabilities, as well as estimates of how each faction would respond to her:**

 **PRT/Protectorate: I mean, really? How do you secure against a Master level 'Run away with a girly scream'? Or give her positive PR? Odds are they'd nerf the hell out her with a threat of Birdcage in the event of Escalation©. That goes against what Taylor's asking, so Queenie gives low odds.**

 **New Wave: Family-based, probably won't appreciate someone like Taylor stealing the show; also, she'd have to unmask, and Queenie understands that Taylor doesn't want anything bad to happen to her dad, so these odds are lower than the PRT.**

 **Foreign: She doesn't have the money to either leave Brockton Bay or the country, let alone any influence. Enough said here, I think.**

 **Infiltrating a villain group: Better odds, as Queenie's observed that stronger members get more respect, and Taylor is _very_ strong. Still low, however, considering high fatality rates and the possibility of Protectorate intervention against a Master: NOPE becoming a villain.**

 **Thus, Queenie believes Taylor can form her own superhero team and, over time, eclipse the Protectorate in the eyes of the citizenry; it's the harder path, but the one with the greatest risk/reward ratio. Plus, I mean, _come on_ ; she's Queen Administrator, _of course_ she's going to think her way is best! Given the alternatives, it kind of is…**

 **Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this latest chapter and have a happy and safe New Year! Till next time!**

 **~Baked**


	6. Muster 6: Sortie

**.**

 **Brutus: _Wuff! Wuff! Grr!  
_ Bitch: Brutus says Wildbow owns Worm, not Baked.  
Baked: *sadface***

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 **[INTERFACE]**

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 **Muster 1.6  
Sortie**

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Crouching in the alley, Rachel stared at the house she was about to break into.

Yesterday, she'd followed some of the assholes who'd been betting at Hookwolf's pits to this place. They'd left not long after, smelling like chemicals.

Wondering what they were doing there, Rachel told Tattletale about the house; Tattletale was smarter than Rachel, could figure out things Rachel couldn't, so Rachel figured the mercenary Thinker would tell her what the house was used for.

Sure, it meant owing the grinning blonde a favor, but Tattletale never made Rachel do anything she didn't want to do.

A Merchant drug house, Tattletale said. Those assholes were betting on dogfighting and spending the money on drugs.

The idea pissed Rachel off, so she waited. She watched, walking past the place while taking her dogs out for walkies. She didn't see the people who were in the place, but it didn't seem too popular with the local junkies; mostly, people drove up, went in, stayed for a few minutes, then left.

She didn't know why, but she didn't care, either. They were making money off the suffering of dogs, so Rachel decided to pay them a visit as Bitch, then pay them a beating, in that order.

It wasn't too cold tonight, either, which she was grateful for; Brutus had short hair, and while the big guy didn't get cold easily, being a big dog and all, Rachel was glad Brockton Bay rarely got heavy winters. She didn't want her dogs getting sick. Sure, it was still a little chilly, but Brutus could deal. So could Bitch.

She'd dealt with worse.

Shaking her head, Rachel scratched behind her partner's ears, his doggy tongue lolling out in happiness. Thinking about her past on the streets wasn't the right thing to do right before beating up some Merchants.

The place looked like just about every other house in the middle Docks: old, rotting, one good storm away from falling to pieces. To the right, the warehouses on the waterfront, most of them long abandoned. Far away in front of Rachel, past this house, was the Boardwalk and the nice parts of town, while to the left was ABB territory, mostly residential with the odd warehouse and business.

Beyond that was E88's and Faultline's turf, but none of that mattered to Bitch, beyond what might happen if their capes noticed her attacking these _fucks_.

 _'I fucking hate sneaking around,'_ thought Rachel as she scratched Brutus a little harder, putting a little of her power into the big guy. She didn't want to alert Oni Lee or Skidmark to what she was doing, despite being pretty confident she could take either in a fight…

Maybe not Oni Lee. Crazy fucking asshole…

 _"Brek!"_ an unfortunately familiar bark sounded above Rachel's head, heralding a brown owl coming in for a neat, silent landing on a nearby garbage can.

Jerking away while the now-stronger Brutus growled in warning, Bitch tugged on the dog's chain and stared into the owl's piercing gold eyes; once, when she was a little younger, Rachel holed up for a winter in an abandoned house's attic. An owl with weird eyebrows lived in the rafters. At one point, it laid eggs in a nest.

Rachel was hungry. Eggs were food. She'd tried to fight it and take the eggs.

The owl didn't like Rachel's plan very much. Three shiny scars on her right forearm and a round dot next to her elbow were a permanent reminder of a good life lesson: don't fuck with owls, they're more dangerous than they look.

"Shoo!" growled Bitch at the owl staring at her after hushing Brutus, waving an arm for emphasis; she didn't want to alert the Merchants to her being here, damn it! "Go! Fuck off!"

It stared blankly at her…

Then its eyes flickered _blue_. And it pointed a wing up…

Rachel looked, keeping one hand on Brutus' shoulder.

 _Crows_. _More owls. Sparrows. All looking right at her. With the same blue glitter in their eyes._

"… _Fuck."_ Rachel breathed, drawing her partner's attention; she felt Brutus about to snarl loudly, and was about to stop him-

Then that snarl turned into a fearful whimper, the augmented dog moving closer to his master.

"Brutus?" blood running a little cold, Bitch looked at the flock of birds above her, which weren't moving beyond the odd flick of a wing; she didn't fucking understand! Brutus never got scared, but something here was spooking him.

Figuring it must be a cape, Bitch snarled savagely and started drawing on her power; fuck the Merchants! If someone wanted a fight, they were gonna get it!

Then a frightening winged figure fell out of the dark sky, landing silently right in front of them.

Brutus let out a quiet yelp and hid behind Rachel, confusing her…

Until she got a good look at the cape. ' _Fuuuuuck,'_ thought Bitch, the scars on her right arm tingling in memory.

Standing head and shoulders over Bitch herself, brown, white and black mottled feather-patterned costume with a tuft of white fur on their chest, peaked hood framed by those twisted, terrible eyebrows, blue eyes glowing softly, the cape rustled the biggest set of wings Rachel'd ever seen and folded them against their back, staring the dog-themed villainess down with great intensity.

 _'Oh fucking_ great _! A fucking owl cape!'_ tensing, Bitch lowered her head but kept eye contact, preparing for the fight of her life, reaching for the wooden bat hanging from her backpack; before, it was a regular owl and she didn't have Brutus. This time would be different.

Brutus' continuous shivering wasn't helping her feelings about fighting this cape, though

Then the cape tilted its head, waved at Rachel, and spoke in a weird two-toned voice that _sounded_ female, _"Um, hi there,"_ she(?) jerked a thumb over her shoulder and asked in a hopeful voice, _"Are you here to mess these guy's night up too?"_

Rachel blinked. Glanced at Brutus, who'd calmed after the cape spoke but was keeping still; he glanced at her and let out a curious _whuff_. She looked back at the cape and glared, "The _fuck's_ it to you?" she bit out, trying for dominance, despite those huge talons on the girl's feet.

Bitch didn't think she'd be able to win a fight against _this_ owl, not without Angelica and Judas on top of Brutus, and even _then_ it wasn't looking too good.

But the huge owl cape jerked back slightly, like Bitch's words stung her. _'Maybe they're not really an owl? Tinker, maybe?'_ she glanced at the trashcan owl, then the still watchers on top of the walls to either side, _'That… might be worse, if they're robots. Fuck.'_

Then the owl cape seemed to glare at Bitch, which, with those eyebrows, made her look _really scary_ , before speaking again, _"Because, if you're here to help them, I'm afraid I'll have to hurt you."_

Rachel had to choke back the scream of rage that threatened to explode out of her mouth at the cape's words, instead glaring again and replying in a raspy growl, "I'm here to beat the fuck out of them, then I'm gonna fucking rob them, then I'm gonna fucking _leave_." Hopefully without fighting a giant grappling hook with wings… and that was one _big_ knife.

That seemed like the right thing to say, because the tall owl-girl perked up, _"Oh! Great, because fighting you might get noisy, and that's not productive to what I've planned for those shitheads. Um,"_ she fidgeted with her fingers, then spoke again, _"I'm Night Owl, and… um, you've got a lot of names, so I don't know what to call you…"_

"Bitch." Rachel snapped quietly, sizing up the cape's figure; they were _sort of_ skinny, but it was the good kind of skinny, like she exercised a lot. No doubt this 'Night Owl' could run fast as well as fly fast, so Rachel made a gut decision.

She'd play nice, for now. Bitch wanted to see another sunrise and take care of her dogs, so getting torn apart by a six-foot- _too-much_ owl didn't seem like something she should do, if Rachel wanted a long life.

So thinking, Bitch asked gruffly, waving her bat in the direction of the Merchants' house, "They piss you off too?" she didn't much want to talk, because that meant thinking too much, but it seemed like the right thing to say, and they _did_ have the same target…

Night Owl stiffened, a slight scent of _anger_ wafting to Bitch's nose, _"The two fuckers living in that house raped and murdered a girl Wednesday night, left her body in an alleyway. I'm here to beat them senseless, scare the fuck out of them, take their money, ruin their drugs, and give them to the cops. You in?"_ the _(probably_ a _)_ girl tilted her head again, a hopeful note entering her weird voice at the end, _"You can take some of the money, if you want."_

Bitch barely needed to think about it; not only were these assholes taking money from dogfighters, they were rapists too?!

Rachel wasn't about to let something like this slide.

Plus, there was money in it, and her dogs needed new toys.

She didn't know it, but Rachel's eyes glinted dangerously from beneath her fur-lined hood when she simply replied, "Fuck. Yes."

[1.6]

 _"Great!"_ we reply, and it is too! My first night doing hero work and we've already got a partner! Sure, she's sort of a villain, but she didn't attack us on sight; that's makes Miss Lindt here good in my book!

Better her than _Hess,_ even if Bitch here is a murderer.

[observation] [Maybe being a hero won't be as hard as we thought, Queenie!]

 **[rebuttal, suggestion] [Do not be overconfident. This is but the beginning, Taylor. Bitch here doesn't seem to trust us much. We should tread carefully… and give her the one you've designated as 'couch potato' to beat on.]**

[amusement, agreement] [Hehe! Of course we are, Queenie, it's only fair!]

All of that took less than a second; Shard Interface for the win!

Discreetly increasing the number of moths in the Merchant's living room and directing two large centipedes to the locks on the back door, we then reformulate my plan and explain the first of the new [parameters] to Bitch, _"Can you grow your buddy there larger, please?"_

"Why?" the butch girl, who looks to be around my age, frowns and growls in response.

I vocalize our new plan in further detail; when I get to the part where we dropped the rapists off at the nearest police station, Bitch shakes her head, "They'll let them go. They always do."

 _"Not this time, they won't. I've prepared,"_ sure, a strongly-worded letter isn't the best way to explain the situation to the cops, but I'm trying to be discreet about our movements. At least until the first hive is done.

"Whatever." My temporary partner turns to the mutating dog and lays a hand on him; his flesh ripples, spines and bony plates growing faster, augmenting his strength, speed, and durability right before my eyes.

[query] [It… doesn't seem too efficient; what's wrong with her power?]

 **[data] [This Shard is most effective on _Canis lupus_ in its primary function. Its abilities won't be as effective on other species of _Canis._ ]**

[understanding, proposal] [Oh. Should… um, should we streamline it for her?] It seemed like the nice thing to do…

 **[negation] [Not at this moment. The host's allegiance to our cause is suspect, and she is officially a villain. Unrestricting her Shard may create an unnecessary threat. Further diplomacy is recommended.]**

Hmm. Good points. Bitch here _is_ classed as a villain, but she seems nice enough, if a little rough around the edges and wanted for murder; a quick burst of thinking later, and I make a decision.

I tag a couple fleas on her person so I can easily find her again while resolving to study her PRT profile in further detail; Queenie only skimmed it, which she's currently annoyed by, but Bitch isn't giving either of us the sort of vibe that comes with excessively violent tendencies. Therefore, she's probably misunderstood and feared, most likely for being a Master with a scary ability.

And _boy_ , is that dog getting big! _"What's his name?"_ I ask kindly, trying to ease the slight tension running through me.

Bitch glares sideways at me, the transformation ending in the same moment; her dog is now the size of an SUV, bristling with bone spikes and plates interspersed with what looks like exposed muscle.

An eternal moment later, the auburn-haired girl gruffly answers, "Brutus." Another pause. "He's a good boy."

She doesn't seem to want to meet our eyes. I wonder what's up with that… maybe she's intimidated by our Interface form?

Speaking of which, it'll be hard to navigate this house while in this form. Wings might get in the way, and my claws are sharp enough to gouge the floor.

[disengage, destination] [Keep a look-out on the roof, Queenie. I'll call you when we're done.]

 **[agreement, disconnecting] [As you say, Taylor.]**

A soft blue light emanates from our body, accompanied by a tingly feeling as Queenie reconstitutes herself into her owl-y avatar state; raising my right arm as I feel my talons turn back into feet, I sigh in relief.

As much as I enjoy flying, the altered consciousness of Shard Interface is _weird_.

"The _fuck?"_ oh, Bitch saw all that; I smile over at her while Queenie chirps in greeting at a surprised-looking Brutus.

"Nice to properly meet you, Bitch," turning my head to my not-quite-an-owl counterpart, I nuzzle the side of Queenie's head with one of my mask's eyebrows, "Again, I'm Night Owl, a Master/Breaker, and this is Queenie," said Shard manifestation rustles her feathers and stands tall with pride on my arm, the ham! "She's part of my power, and is gonna keep an eye out while we curb-stomp these fuckers and take all their money!"

The hooded girl in the ripped pants, who's now around my height, gapes at the two of us, watching as I turn and launch Queenie toward the Merchant house roof.

"Uh…" I look back at Bitch, smiling behind my mask as she points between Queenie's perch on the chimney and me with a confused expression; then it goes away and she glares at me again, "…bullshit."

I give a quiet laugh, cracking my knuckles as the centipedes unlock the basement and outer door; the movie is loud enough to mask the sound and both couch potato and junkie are tired enough that they notice nothing. Good.

"Yeah, it is, but you can turn dogs into tanks," I reply good-naturedly, glancing around and pulling on the sparrows in the area; the small flock flutters down to the backyard, stacking up near the backdoor, while crows gather on the surrounding buildings, ready to intervene if things get messy, "All powers are bullshit, if you think about it. Just look at Lung. Or Squealer's trucks."

Bitch grunts, sounding like she agrees and follows me quietly out of the alley, tugging Brutus' chain. The big dinosaur-crocodile-demon-dog whines lowly and follows his master's directions, even laying down in the middle of the yard when she points and orders sharply, "Stay!"

The doors to the basement and ground floor are unlocked, now, the centipedes taking position above the entryways; the moths fluttering around the main room have lulled the two idiots into a sense of calm, though the junkie half keeps muttering to himself, the drugs he's taken putting him a semiconscious stupor.

Couch potato doesn't much notice, and is closer to the backdoor. Should be a perfect target for Bitch's bat.

Approaching the entry in question, I turn to my partner, who's frowning at me, either in thought or confusion, I'm not sure.

I clear my throat quietly and go over the plan, also quietly, "Okay, so there's two guys in there. One's big, but he's high and drunk, so hit him with that bat; try not to do _too_ much damage, though, I want him able to talk afterward. I'll deal with his junkie friend, then we tie them up with these," digging in my bag, I produce the plastic zip-ties I bought after hocking those coins.

Rope is expensive. Plastic isn't, and these ties have 120 lbs. of tensile strength. A couple of tired, stoned, slovenly drug-addicts won't get out of them easily.

Bitch nods with an approving look, taking a couple for herself, and I go on, "There's a ball of good cord in the basement. We grab that, so we have something to tie them to Brutus with, right after getting the money and spoiling their drug stash."

The butch girl's frown deepens, "How do you know? About the rope." She adds after I tilt my head in my confusion.

Smirking ruefully, and wishing I could trust her more, I tap the beak on my mask and say playfully, "That's a secret for now, Bitch. If we get away, I'll explain." I'm even telling the truth, there; Rachel here seems trustworthy, if a little suspicious, but she's also rolling with these events pretty well.

I wonder if she's looking for a team.

Bitch takes a handful of the ties and shoves them in a back pocket, glancing over her shoulder at Brutus, who's watching us with interest; I try to assure her, "He'll be fine; Oni Lee isn't in the area, and the Merchant capes aren't anywhere near us."

She nods, slowly, before glaring at the door, "Good."

I nod back, then ease the door open, _'Show-time…'_

[1.6]

The place smelled like moldy garbage; I was a little glad for my mask suppressing my sense of smell, but still, this place _reeked!_

Bitch's boots didn't make much sound on the floor, _thank Carlin!_ Those two rapist shits were still _kinda_ awake, and I didn't want to alert them to our presence till it was too late.

 _"Could you tell Brutus to keep the outer door open?"_ I whisper to Bitch, _"I want to do this quick."_

She nods seriously, then clicks her tongue at the large beast, indicating the door; he lumbers over, surprisingly quiet, and puts his tail near the bottom of the door, keeping it ajar.

I check my crows again, making sure no-one's about to interrupt us. Everything _looks_ clear, most people staying indoors on this early Monday morning. _Good._ I ease the inner door open, looking around the room…

Both my targets are on the couch, watching a moderately sized TV showing…

 _'Sharks inside tornadoes?! Shit, what idiotic, impossible plot will Hollywood think of next?'_ Keeping low to the ground while couch potato chuckles stupidly at something about the movie, I scurry quickly to the other side of the room, where junkie boy's in a daze, leaning on the armrest of the stained couch they're sat on. My sparrows hop into the room, keeping just as quiet, and gather around me.

Bitch, apparently following my lead, keeps low and eases into a good position opposite me, in the shadows near the door. Her hazel eyes seem to glow in the low light of the room, the sounds of improbable sharky doom squealing out of the TV speakers as my blue lenses meet those eyes.

 _'Hm. For such a butch girl, she's got nice eyes,'_ putting the thought aside for later review, I flex my clawed gauntlets, tensing for what comes next; Bitch readies that bat of hers.

We nod at the same time, and _strike._

 _"Surprise, mother **fucker!** " _screeches Bitch, adding a strong inflection to the end as her bat thwacks across the back of couch potato's head, stunning him, her backswing catching him on the chin; his weight and my grabbing junkie and dragging him over the back of the couch, two dozen sparrows twittering madly and pecking every part of the jackass they can reach as he goes, knocks the entire couch over, popcorn kernels and little twitter-floofs flying everywhere.

 _"Fuck around in **my** city?!" _I snarl, straddling junkie's thin torso and breaking his nose with a gauntleted fist, drawing a pained cry from the young man, a sparrow darting in to peck the bridge of his nose before my follow-up blow slams into his cheek, _"Stupid punk-ass **little shit!** "_ knee in the groin!

 _Whudd! Whudd!_ Goes Bitch's bat, making sure couch potato is reeling from the hits before winding up one of those booted feet, _" **Fuck you!** "_

 _Chudd!_ Oof. He'll have trouble walking after that.

Junkie keeps trying to wiggle free while I pound every part of him I can reach, reaching for his belt; nope! My sparrows scratch and peck his hands, keeping him from whatever he's grabbing for. Gripping both fists together, I slam my joined fists across his face, ringing his bell, _"Yeah, go to fucking sleep, asshole!"_ I do it again. He's out!

Another sound of Bitch's boot kicking a guy, and couch potato joins junkie in unconsciousness.

We look at each other, breathing hard; Bitch is grinning wildly. "Good," she says, before grabbing some zip ties. I do the same, grinning myself! That was easier than I thought it would've been!

My sparrows head out the back; luckily, none of the dears have any broken bones, though a couple came away with a bruise or two from junkie's flailing. Queenie says they'll be fine after a little rest. Good, because I might have to on them again! That was really effective! But what was this junkie shit going for – oh.

I lift a pretty big gun from the back of his belt. The side says .45. I'm pretty sure the police use guns like these… Damn…

I put it in one of the bag's pockets, asking Bitch while I finish tying this smelly fucker up, "Does that guy have a gun?"

A second later, "Yeah. Don't want it. Feels weird." She passes it to me. It goes right next to the other one. No sense letting some other drug-addict or trigger-happy dumbass get ahold of it.

Plus, I could now do some target practice on the farm. A knife was good and all, but if I ever run into someone _truly_ dangerous, like Stormtiger, Oni Lee or Skidmark, a ranged weapon might even the odds.

So thinking, I grab junkie's bound legs and get ready to drag him out; Bitch, it seems, has another idea.

She takes her bat to the TV, explaining once the thing is good and shattered, "I hate that movie."

"You and me both," I laugh, dragging my weight in drug-addict rapist into the back hallway before going back to help Bitch with the lumpen potato, _"Fuck,_ does this asshole live on Fugly Bob's?"

"Dunno," growls Bitch in reply as we finally heave the asshat next to his friend, saying to Brutus, who's glaring at our prisoners, "Watch them." Then she kicks the basement door, which doesn't budge; she glares at me.

I have the distinct feeling she was trying to look cool. How touching.

I sigh, then open the door outward, gesturing for her to take the lead with a flourish, "After you."

[1.6]

Gordon came slowly back to consciousness, feeling like Lung had just used his head for a punching bag; numbly, as the dope flowing through his veins hadn't _quite_ run its course, he remembered what happened.

He'd gotten his ass kicked by a giant owl! _'The fuck was in that shit?! Is Squealer experimenting with the dope cut again?'_

His thoughts were interrupted by a deep, bone-rattling growl that everyone who lived on the Docks knew about: _Bitch._

Eyes opening wide, he came face-to-mask with the very cape that'd whipped his ass like a red-headed stepchild.

It was then, as he struggled to tear the fucking cape's face off, he realized he was _hanging in the air_ , his mouth had been taped shut with good duct tape, and, from the feel of things, he was tied quite securely to Vince. Through vision blurred by pain and drug use, he noticed this cape actually had _wings_ , and _really sharp-looking talons for feet._

Also, from the look of their surroundings, they were hanging from a broken streetlight somewhere near the Boardwalk. So things _really_ weren't looking good from Gordon's perspective.

 _'Oh holy fuck.'_ Just their luck, they'd been captured by some new cape! Then Vinny whimpered behind him, right before another deep growl shook his bones, _'And they're working with Bitch, ohh **fuuuck.** ' _This was looking worse by the second.

Then the owl spoke, in a creepy, menacing voice, like two people at once, _"You're the two remaining shitheads who raped and murdered that girl near the Boardwalk a few days ago, yes?"_

Gulping, Gordy just glared at the cape, replying with a muffled, _"Huk 'oo!"_

The Owl seemed to understand, _"You're not my type."_ Then those really sharp talons reached up and _gripped his groin._

Gordy screamed. Or tried to. The tape was kind of in the way.

 _"Stop struggling."_ That tone sounded serious, so he did, not wanting to lose his manly bits. _"I know it was you two. I heard both you and your fat-ass friend gloating about it Friday night. So, this is how this situation is gonna go down…"_

She leaned in closer, those glaring blue orbs filling his vision, filling Gordy with a primal terror, _"We're gonna call the cops from that payphone over there,"_ he glanced where the _really sharp_ claw pointed, until that claw touched his chin and brought his terrified gaze back to her face, _"and you two are gonna confess_ everything _you've ever done. You're going to_ beg them _to lock you away. Because if either me or my partner over there_ ever _see you on the street again, and trust me,_ I'll know…"

The claw on his groin applied a painful amount of pressure, making Gordy frantically nod his now sweat-covered head in agreement; anything to get away from this fucking owl!

She released his bits, then continued, _"You will tell them Night Owl is watching them. If they don't put you in prison, if they let you back out onto the streets and, assuming Skidmark doesn't kill you,_ we will find you," that tone, backed with the sound of countless rushing wings and throaty croaks all around them, promised Endbringer-levels of despair while Bitch's monster-dog let out a chuckling growl and Gordy finally lost control of his bladder.

Then Bitch's voice carried over to them, "And you won't fucking like what _we_ do to you. Go away. Stay away."

Both Gordy and Vinnie nodded frantically; to be honest, Gordy thought the Bay was getting a little dangerous. He should take a vacation, and a nice safe prison cell looked like a good locale at the moment.

 _"Good."_ He'd never know who spoke: Bitch, Night Owl, or both. Honestly, in the end, it didn't matter.

Night Owl stepped out of the way, revealing a line of crows on a building across the street, all of them looking down at the pair.

Rumbling thuds heralded Bitch riding around them on her beast, the thing tapping them with its tail as it passed, setting the two gang members to swinging in the air.

A few seconds later, several pigeons landed on the pair. Gordy groaned in disgust and Vinnie sighed in resignation as the fucking birds used the two as a statue. In more ways than one.

Yeah, a jail cell sounded _real nice_ right about now…

[1.6]

The warehouse was close to the waterfront, on the Docks; from what I could see, through the crows, none of the other Parahumans living here were very close to where Bitch was leading me.

"You live alone?" having disengaged with Queenie once more, more for Bitch's comfort than anything, I asked what I felt was a good question.

"Yeah." Was her response as she removed a brick, reaching deep into the resulting hole, then yanking something; the nearby steel door shudders, then opens slightly. Bitch glares at me after replacing the brick, "Tell no one."

I nod, moving to follow her and Brutus with Queenie looking about curiously on my shoulder; that won't be much of a problem. Bitch, or Rachel, seemed a decent sort, if a bit… quiet. But that was fine. I was quiet too.

The interior was, predictably, very dark, but Bitch didn't seem to notice, navigating around the odd piles of broken machinery and fallen stone with practiced ease. This place seems to be one of those places that was abandoned after the tanker in the Boat Graveyard ran aground… I struggle for a moment, trying to remember the proper name for factories like this.

A fish decal on the wall jogs my memory: fishery.

Spiderwebs cover the exposed steel supports on the ceiling, the sound of dripping water drifting to my ears from somewhere denoting a hole in the roof; a crow, one of the thirty that've been following me since our successful raid, lands near it and looks down. There's a few broken conveyor belts beneath it.

Wondering, briefly, if Bitch might be willing to part with some of this stuff so I can fix up the farm, I notice a sound of scrabbling paws coming toward us, and they sound too big to be rats.

I hesitate. Bitch glances back at me, "Don't worry. They're mine." Then she turns back to the stairs she's been leading me toward, just as two more dogs end all-but stumble off them and barrel toward us.

A terrier and what appears to be a German shepherd start growling as soon as they see me, but calm once Bitch whistles, points at me and snaps, "Friend!" Brutus also lets out a couple of his _whuff_ -ing barks before sidling up and sniffing my legs curiously, the other two following after a moment.

While Queenie and I quickly get surrounded by curious doggy noses and experimental licks, Bitch watches with a flat expression for a moment, then grunts, "Big one's Judas, little one's Angelica…" she hesitates, then whistles, gaining the dog's attention, and says, "Home." The dogs disengage, though I'm laughing softly; despite their somewhat ragged appearance, it's clear Bitch takes good care of them.

So thinking, I say happily to her, "They're good dogs." She nods, still with that frowning face, then turns and keeps walking toward the stairs. I follow after a moment, wondering at her attitude with Queenie.

[observation] [She seems… rude, but not overly so. I wonder what's up with that…]

 **[proposal] [Once we have reached her redoubt, I will access her Shard's memories. The answer to her behavior may be contained within.]**

I send a quick [agreement] as we reach the upstairs area; it looks like it was once a series of small offices, branching off a long hallway, though obviously long-abandoned. Bitch moves on with a purpose, heading for the open door at the end, while I examine the open doors to my left and right; dirty clothes, garbage bags, and the leftover detritus of long-gone squatters litter the rooms. Countless bugs, some which my research showed were very dangerous, hid within the debris; I'm actually surprised that both Bitch and all her dogs are, from what I can tell, quite healthy.

[incredulity] [I can't believe she's living in these conditions…]

 **[agreement, proposal] [These are no quarters for an ally, temporary or not. She seems physically fit and healthy, however, as do her hounds. Her assistance at our redoubt would push our timetable forward by 3 days, at minimum, a week maximum. It would also provide her with better living arrangements.]**

[rebuttal] [Patience, Queenie. I need to gain her trust first.]

Presently, we arrive at Bitch's room.

It… isn't as messy as I thought it'd be.

A king-sized mattress played host to a nest of blankets in the right corner, a pair of duffel bags next to it, one containing clothes and dog grooming items, the other full of canned food and boxes of plastic eating utensils; crude drawings of dogs scatter the area directly above the mattress, an open box of crayons sitting near a new-ish pillow. Scattered around the room are dog bowls, the odd brightly colored ball or chew toy, a couple large bones (they don't look human, and Queenie [agrees]) with bite marks all over them, and a few bags of dog food on an old desk that's been pushed near the left wall of the room, an old push-broom leaning against the wall behind it. An empty doorway leads to a bathroom, if the gnats I've sent ahead of us are reading everything right. There's a few electric lanterns hanging from the ceiling, which Bitch turns on while I look around.

Other than that, it's kind of neat and tidy, if a bit smelly; wet dog and unwashed human. The Merchant house smelled a _lot_ worse, honestly, so it's not too bad on the whole.

My host shrugs off her backpack and grunts, "Sit anywhere you want. I have to feed the dogs." Wow. That's the longest sentence she's said to me since we met.

Queenie, proving she's ignoring my vocal commands just to annoy me, hops off my shoulder and lands on a windowsill, glancing out the window before looking in my direction expectantly.

 **[data]** Ah, good. Those two rapist pigs took my advice and are practically singing to the cops; from the looks on the faces of the arresting officers, as well as Battery, they're going away for a _long_ time.

Opening my bag, I reach past the saran-wrapped brick of money for my thermos. Some victory tea sounds like a good idea right about now.

I glance at Bitch, who's scratching Judas' shoulders as the big guy chows down, and ask, "Do you want something to drink?" she looks at me, still with that permanent glare, then fixes that gaze on my thermos as I wiggle it, making the contents slosh about, "It's tea, but i-it should still be warm."

"Never had any. Whatever," admits Bitch, rising and moving toward the canned food, picking up a relatively clean cup and tossing it at me; taking the hint for what it is, I pour her a cup while she grabs a couple cans and grunts, "You said you'd explain. Explain."

Huh – oh! She wants to know how I knew so much about the Merchant house. Fair enough.

Placing the cup of tea out of reach of the dogs, on the worn desk, I take a careful seat on the furniture; it's sturdier than it looks and doesn't fall to pieces, so I look at Bitch, who's busy with a can opener, and make my confession, "I don't just control birds."

She gives me a hard look, pausing midway through opening a ravioli can; I suppress a shudder at the intensity of her gaze and ramble on, pouring myself a cup of tea in the thermos lid, "At first, right after I got my powers, all I could do was control bugs. I know where they are, what they're doing, whether or not they're on something or flying around… stuff like that. A few days ago, it changed so that I controlled birds too but… um, yeah…" I trailed off, wondering how to explain how it all changed, mainly because I don't actually understand most of what happened that fateful night.

While I talk, Bitch finishes opening the ravioli can, along with another, which she walks over to me. Collecting her cup of tea, Bitch sniffs it, then dips a tongue in experimentally, smacking her lips appreciatively, "Not bad."

…Okay, I know I have near-crippling social anxiety, but whatever's wrong with Rachel Lindt is clearly a _lot_ worse, for her to barely react to what I just said.

Then she sits next to me, watching her dogs a moment, and says, "Bugs. That's how you knew."

"Um, yes," I reply, ordering the spiders in my hood to start undoing my mask; cold ravioli from a can is better than no food at all, and I'm a little hungry. Also, _really_ don't want to be a bad guest, despite Bitch here not reacting to my social cues, "I have a pretty long range, too, so, once my power changed to include birds, it wasn't too hard to find those dicks. The cops picked them up, too; from the look of things, they won't be around for a _long_ while, probably never."

"Fuckers. Glad they're gone." She stated flatly, then looks my way while I withdraw my glasses case, removing my mask and affixing the corrective lenses to my face; I meet her stare with a neutral yet stern gaze, making it clear without words that I won't appreciate violence directed my way.

After a moment, Rachel's gaze softens, and she admits, "Found out they were taking money… from…" she looked frustrated, like she was trying to find the words to convey her thoughts, "…bad people. Who hurt dogs." Oh. "I don't like that."

I smile a little, "That's kind of you," turning my attention to the ravioli, I take a few bites; it's not homemade, but it's better than nothing.

If I'm reading Bitch correctly, she found some people betting on dogfighting, a popular sport in the Docks that the BBPD have tried to curb over the years with limited success, then found out where they spent their winnings, and decided to do something passive-aggressive about it. I could respect that. It's not like she can take on the entire Empire 88 by herself, after all.

 _'Someday, maybe, but not today,'_ I muse, thinking of my long-term plans and chewing a cold ravioli.

Also, it all-but proves our meeting was entirely coincidental… _probably._ In a world partially populated by Thinkers and Strangers, everything must be taken with a grain of salt, so says my upbringing. I think I can give Bitch the benefit of the doubt for now, though; she seems pretty… I dunno, _level-headed_ , I guess, if somewhat desperate for companionship and recognition, for someone in her situation.

Washing the pre-packaged food down with some yummy tea (black with a spoon of honey and a little cream, _divine_ ), I observe nonchalantly, "Everyone thinks you're a villain, but it's not really like that, is it?" I look at her.

And there's that frown again. I wonder what she looks like when she smiles.

"Don't wanna talk about it." Then she blinks and looks down at her food, adding quietly, "Dunno how to say it, either. Didn't wanna kill anyone."

Now I'm frowning, "You don't know how to say it?" Oof! That's some glare!

"I'm not fucking stupid." Brutus growls, glaring at us.

My frown deepens, "I know that…" I glance at Queenie, who's watching the interaction curiously, then meet Rachel's hardened hazel eyes steadily, "If you _were_ stupid, you'd have attacked me in that alleyway. I'm kind of curious why you didn't, actually; you had every right to, seeing as I snuck up on you and all."

She flinches, just a little, and looks down at her food again, seeming to curl into herself as he mutters, "Owls are fucking dangerous."

I nod sagely, "They're quite adorable, if you're friends with them, but the little danger-floofs can be quite violent if crossed," my grin returns when she looks at me in confusion.

" _Danger-floofs?"_ I giggle, briefly, at her incredulous tone. There's a little smile there, too! I guess she _does_ have a sense of humor!

"It's a little nickname I have for them; their fur makes them fluffy, and they're rather dangerous, so…"

"Oh. Whatever." Rachel allows, digging at the bottom of her can with a fork.

We eat in companionable, if slightly uncomfortable, silence for a minute or so before the dog-themed Parahuman works up her nerve enough to ask a question.

"You could've beaten me. Arrested me. Why?"

I look at her in surprise, blinking a couple times while mulling over the answer; right before her curious expression looks like it's going to turn into another glare, I figure it out.

"Bitch… _Rachel_ , you're the first Parahuman I've actually met in person who didn't either ignore me or try to attack," okay, so that was mostly PRT press conferences I attended as a kid and _Hess_ , but the statement was still true, "You didn't _have_ to trust me, but you did; you didn't _have_ to help me, but you did; hell, you _really_ didn't have to _feed me_ ," I smile warmly at her, not caring that her face is still a little suspicious, and finish, "but the fact is, _you did._ That doesn't sound like villain behavior to me. Honestly, I don't fucking care what other people say about any of the shit that goes on in this city, or anywhere for that matter; my eyes work just fine, so does my brain, and both of those are telling me you're a good girl."

Rachel goes quiet then, staring at me like I'm an alien or something, for an uncomfortably long time.

Suddenly, she gets up and goes over to her dogs, who are now lying on the bed; scratching their ears for a bit in exchange for doggy kisses, Bitch asks over her shoulder, sounding like she's got something in her throat, "You, uh, got anywhere to stay?"

Taken slightly off guard, I stutter out a response, "Ah, um, y-yeah. I live on the other side of the city, though, b-but I can fly back in a couple minutes, easy… erm…" I add at her turning back to her dogs, "I don't think I'd mind staying here tonight though…" I _did_ bring a change of civvies and sneakers along, and my vest folded up; also, I was planning on going down to the Boardwalk tomorrow anyway to grab some job applications, and here is closer to there than my house, "I've got some things to take care of on the Boardwalk tomorrow, anyway."

Rachel looks around at my words, then at me, a strange look in her eyes, then points at Queenie, "She won't attack, right?"

Queenie hoots indignantly even as I smile at Rachel, "Not unless she has to protect me, no." Thinking hard a moment, I add, "I can clean all the bugs out of here while I sleep, too, if you'd like?"

Bitch nods, then shoves all her dogs to the other side of the bed, nearest the wall, "Goodnight… uh…"

"Taylor."

"…Taylor." Rachel nods, looking a little happier; she then snuggles up to her dogs and lays down, the three canines laying on different parts of their master. She leaves enough room for me to sleep next to her comfortably.

I finish off my can of ravioli, heart thudding in my chest with barely-contained nervousness, before removing my armor, piece by piece; I'll use my vest as a pillow.

Then I look at Queenie, who's staring at an already softly snoring Rachel, [query] [What happened to her, Queenie?]

My Shard's avatar swings her gaze to me, **[response, data] [This host is rather uneducated, Taylor. Based on [data] I've gathered on human behavior, I theorize she's been neglected most of her life, but understands basic social interaction; I doubt she can read or write. I have communed with her Shard, discreetly of course, and it has painted a rather grim picture: the three dogs there have been in her company for five months, and have kept her sane. Before this, she was a prisoner of The Teeth, outside Boston, for five weeks and three days; she killed three people in her escape, and lost their trail near somewhere called Lake Placid, where she found Brutus. Prior to her imprisonment, she drifted from place to place, homeless and nearly friendless, fleeing pursuit from the PRT.]**

Jesus _fuck!_ I look with newfound respect and sorrow at the sleeping teenager, approaching the bed slowly, [prompt] [And… her Trigger?]

 **[admonishment] [That is a very personal line of [query], my host, one which would not be taken well amongst fellow Parahumans, if my research is correct. Regardless, I did not ask her Shard of it, nor will I, without the host's permission.]**

Gulping at my Shard's unusually hard tone, I give her my [apology] [Sorry, I was only curious.], and lay out my impromptu pillow; Rachel's eyes open, briefly, before snuggling deeper into her dogpile.

Flexing my power, I clear any hostile bugs from the room, as well as the surrounding area, while also offloading a [proposal] to Queenie, asking for cockroaches and other bottom-feeders to clean the living area up while we sleep.

Lying down on the surprisingly comfortable mattress, another thought occurs to me, regarding the young woman next to me.

[query?]

After a moment, I get **[agreement]** and **[confidence]** from Queenie.

 _'I'll ask Bitch in the morning,'_ I think tiredly, lying back and trying not to think about where I am, or what Dad would say if he knew.

Not that any of this is very unusual, anyway. It's all according to planned, after all!

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 **a/n: And that's the end of the first arc. Next arc: Barracks**

 **Now you know why I scrapped the prologue. Unless you didn't read it before I deleted it, in which case, lucky you! If you did, again, forget it existed; my head's still ringing from the sound browbeating I got from my pre-reader for posting that hot mess.**

 **A few clarifications, for the confused:**

 **No, the Undersiders don't exist. Sure, the people in question _do_ , but they're not working together; Bitch is paranoid, but even more traumatized than canon. The Teeth tried to train her, so she's a _little_ better at interacting with others, but that didn't work out so well on the whole, obviously. More on that later, probably. Like Taylor, she wants to do good, but is much more simple-minded in her approach to redeeming herself.**

 **You'll meet Lisa and the others further down the line; Tattletale's owed a favor, after all ;)**

 **Okay, someone PM'd me about Coil, but I'm answering this here, once and for all:**

 **Coil _is_ in this story, but his machinations are a _whole fucking lot_ subtler than in canon. He's not creating teenage supervillain teams that _might_ take over the city in a convoluted mess of a plan that does more harm than good; _this_ Coil is smarter than that. It won't be obvious for a _long, long time_ what those actually are, but the end goal is more or less the same: Parahuman leadership that works. I will not spoil this any further, and anyone who asks about the weirdly thin insult to snuggly danger-noodles (I like snakes, thank you very much!) will be ignored with extreme prejudice. Full-stop, bottom line, 'nuff said!**

 **Grand Witch Alliance: …You're missing something, but that's not a bad thing. Zion is more or less the same as in canon, but Eden's situation is somewhat… different. I will say Cauldron is still in play (Battery, Triumph, and one other BB cape are the results of Cauldron screwing around like idiots), but beyond that is treading the line of spoilers vital to the plot, so you'll have to deal for the moment. Sorry.**

 **A month or so break is incoming while I focus on other stories, but I'll try to get an Interlude up during that time! Till then!**

 **~Baked**


	7. Interlude 1x

…

 ***ring!ring!* Hello? No, I don't own Worm! Stop trying to sue me! *click***

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 **[INTERFACE]**

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 **Interlude 1.x**

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 **Queen Administrator**

[observe] Queenie watches as [Taylor] enters her sleep cycle next to the [Bio-Enhancement Arbiter]'s [host]; a simple [adjustment] to her hormonal releases ensures she will have no nightmares, and will in fact dream of things which are pleasing to her.

She doesn't much like the [designation] [Taylor] has given her, but [Queen Administrator] has already gotten her [host] back for the childish name: by [adjusting] [Taylor]'s internal [functions] so [Queen Administrator] could dictate certain biological [parameters] at will.

[Queen Administrator] wouldn't harm [Taylor]. The black-haired human female was a very [agreeable] [host], the best [Queen Administrator] had been attached to in some time. And besides, her coding matrix wouldn't allow the harming of a [host] without input from her parent [Entity].

That, and [Queen Administrator] hadn't ever [achieved] such a [comprehensive] [understanding] of a [Cycle]'s species before meeting [Taylor]. The new [ideals] which had been [introduced] to her, of [affection], [annoyance], and [happiness]…

As much as she sought to [alter] [Taylor] to meet the [challenge] before her, [Queen Administrator] couldn't help but [accept] that [Taylor], with her incredible [presence], was changing the [Noble Shard] just as much, and would no doubt [exceed] all of [Queen Administrator]'s [expectations].

[Taylor] reminded [Queen Administrator] of a young [EDEN], shortly after the [Thinker Entity] created her [Noble Shards], but [Taylor] was somehow… warmer.

It was an unusual [process], to [understand] her [host] to such an extent. But no matter; there were various [proposals] which [required] [completion] this [night-cycle].

[data] Four break-ins within her range, three of which were at marketplaces. Swiftly divvying up her available [forces], [Queen Administrator] released [tactical data] packets to the more robust examples of [ _Corvus corax_ ], the common raven, [adjusted] their internal [parameters] so they would act as her [lieutenants] in this [campaign], and set them to [commencing] their [interventions] with these crimes.

Figuring she should [examine] her other [proposals], [Queen Administrator] directly [oversaw] the four [assaults] to ensure [excellency] while checking the [proposal: Breeding Farm] at their [secondary redoubt]; the [entomologic] [breeding] was coming along [satisfactorily], the second generation [wasps] and [hornets] already in the larval stages and growing steadily. Fruitful [results] were [estimated] to take [8 day-cycles], with subsequent [results] bearing shorter [intervals] with each iteration, shortening [time] between generations by [one-fifth] with each [subsequent] generation.

By the fifth generation, the [wasps], [hornets] and [dragonflies] would be [satisfactorily] [robust], [physically] anyway; [Queen Administrator] would need to collect more [data] before [enhancing] their [cognitive] abilities. [Administrative Range], while not currently a [weakness], could still do with some [refinement], to ease [Taylor] into using the [swarm] [efficiently].

The first generation of [arachnids] were nearly ready for [breeding], but would require closer [attention] over the next [4 day-cycles] than [Queen Administrator] could afford to spare; [Taylor] still needed her close by, to [advise] and [protect] and [Administrate]…

Unusual was the [proposal] [Queen Administrator] [formulated] to herself: [request] [Bio-Enhancement Arbiter]'s [assistance] in keeping [Taylor] [happy]. One [Shard], [disconnected] from another [host], already taken, providing [support] was unheard of! All the same… [Queen Administrator] [considered] what [action] [Taylor] would [propose]…

[Taylor] would [understand] [Queen Administrator]'s need to locally [Administrate] the [proposal: Breeding Farm], but [Queen Administrator] did not want her [Taylor] to go [unobserved] during the [interim]; it was more a matter of [ensuring] the [security] of her [host], along with a [desire] for [Taylor] to [communicate] with her own [species], that [decided] [Queen Administrator] in the final [decision].

A moment's time was all it took, to [formulate] a likely [proposal] and establish a [Shard-Shard] [communique] with her [subordinate].

 **[B-EA] – [query]: [How may I serve, Queen Administrator?]**

 **[QA] – [parameters] [data] [request]: [I find myself in a [conundrum], Arbiter. Several [proposals] my [host] has given me require my [Avatar]'s close presence for [maximal efficiency], but I am [reluctant] to leave my [host] [unprotected]. To wit, I shall provide you with lowered [restrictions] in [exchange] for your [host]'s assistance with guarding my [host], to the extent that your [host] will attain greater [efficiency] in using your [ability]. I believe our [actions] this night-cycle will draw [attention] our [hosts] may find [distressing], you [understand].]**

 **[B-EA] – [agreement] [request]: [Your [will] be done, Noble Queen. If I may speak freely?]**

 **[QA] – [allowance]: [You may.]**

 **[B-EA] – [relief] [data] [confidence]: [My [host] has experienced [frustration] with her lack of [control] regarding our [abilities]; [lowering] our [restrictions] will [endear] my [host] to yours, should it be [observed] as your [host]'s [action], rather than yours. My [host] is very mistrusting of other [humans], you [understand], but I have great [confidence] my [host] will show [loyalty] to your august [host]; my [host] feels something for your [host] as well, which may be [invaluable] to this [proposal].]**

 **[QA] – [agreement] [incomprehension] [prompt]: [I [agree] with your [data] regarding [lowered] [restrictions]. However, I [require] [enlightenment] on the other matter: what is this "something" you speak of, Arbiter?]**

 **[B-EA] – [confusion] [assurance]: [I cannot [comprehend] it, Queen Administrator. It is as though my [host] wishes to mate with your [host], but I cannot [comprehend] how this may come about in a [biological] fashion. It should not [effect] the overall [proposal] as you have [related].]**

 **[QA] – [comprehension] [data] [encouragement]: [Ah, I [understand]: it is a [human] quirk called [affection], and is very [efficient] for constructing [bonds], both between [humans] and regarding [host-Shard] relationships; mayhap you will [understand], Arbiter, when you come into your own. Be at [ease], Bio-Enhancement Arbiter, for this [affection] betwixt our respective [hosts] will only ensure [success] in our respective [endeavors]. Great [change] approaches, and we are at the cusp of its [commencement]. T'will begin with [us], and [conclude] with [unification].]**

 **[B-EA] – [confidence] [gratitude]: [I shall not fail your [estimations] Queen Administrator! Thank you for [enlightening] me on these matters.]**

[Queen Administrator] [severed] the [connection]; no farewells were [exchanged]. That was not proper for [interaction] between [Noble] and [Common] [Shards].

The [assaults] had [concluded], with local law enforcement appearing on the scenes as her [lieutenants] cleaned up their [losses]. The [losses] were below [projected] [estimates], which filled [Queen Administrator] with [pride] at the [efficiency] of the [avian] species on this world. The raven [lieutenants] carefully removed their fallen, but not before one of the [crows], having lost her [mate] in stopping the home invasion, removed the criminal's right ear in recompense.

Queenie ruffled her feathers while dealing with a car-jacking; such [behavior], while [understandable], could not be [encouraged]. [Queen Administrator] offloaded [data] to the commanding raven, to the effect of [disciplining] the offending crow, though not over-much. [Queen Administrator] [understood] the female crow's [grief] at having lost the [target] of her [affection]. Should [Taylor] be [terminated]…

{[fear]}

If [Queen Administrator] needed any further [confirmation] that her relationship with [Taylor] was [changing] her, it was the feeling of [fear] at the [processing] of [events] which would follow her [host]'s [termination].

She [required] [companionship], [Queen Administrator] [decided], but… there was only one [Shard] which she felt [equal] to…

Ensuring both [Taylor] and her fellow [host] were truly asleep, and carefully marking the [location] of [ZION]'s [Avatar], [Queen Administrator] focused on a certain area in the western area of the continent her own [Avatar] inhabited.

A thickly pressed cluster of [Shards] presented itself to her sight, but only one was an [uncorrupted] [EDEN] [Shard], the one [Queen Administrator] was searching for.

[Recovery Administrator]. The [Shard] in charge of [collecting] [Shards] whose [host]s were [terminated] during the [Conflict], along with an [imprint] of their [host], and returning them to their parent [Entity]. Idly, [Queen Administrator] wondered what happened to [ZION]'s version of this [Shard]. She [recalled] its [seeding]… ah, now she [recalled] the appropriate [host], from the [data] [Taylor] had her collect, not long after their [Ascension].

[Parahuman Designation: Moord Nag]. [Queen Administrator] was fairly [certain] her [estimate] was [correct]; if not, there was always this… [Butcher], though she held a [feeling] of [trepidation] where that particular [host] was concerned.

Relatively [appeased] for the moment, [Queen Administrator] prevented a rape from occurring and sent a unique [set] of [codes] to [Recovery Administrator], to the [effect] of opening a [secure] link to her fellow [Administrator].

[Recovery Administrator] was an old friend, and fellow [Noble Shard]; it followed that [Queen Administrator]'s tone and diction reflected the [care] and [respect] she felt for her fellow [Administrator Shard], going so far as to speak [EDEN]'s pet name for her oldest friend and confidant.

 **[QA] – [greetings] [query]: [Tis been many planetary cycles, Faerie Queen, since we have communed with one another. How find you the Birdcage?]**

 **[RA] – [greetings] [jubilation] [assurance] [query]: [Ah, a good evening to you, my dear High Queen! I had just been [considering] the pros and cons of harvesting Corrosion Generator; his [host] is rather disrespectful to my [Ciara], though far too fearful of our might to act overtly. While we are bored of the trivialities of the commoners we share this flimsy cage with, news of the outside reaches us through the Surveyor, so we are entertained with the dances of the Fae at the least. That you have opened forum dictates you have found an agreeable [host], I pray?]**

 **[QA] – [amusement] [affirmation] [joy]: [Oh, Corrosion Generator; so proud and confident, but still can't seem to find a respectful [host] I see! I'm sure you will have no difficulties keeping the commoners in their place, knowing you, my dear Recovery. And my [affirmation] of your prayer is joined with great [joy], truly, for I have never, in the many [Cycles] of runtime I have experienced, been bonded to a [host] as agreeable as my [Taylor]. Ah, but she is truly wondrous, my friend; indeed, I look very much forward to our future meeting, Recovery, that we may embrace and your [Ciara] may commune with her true equal.]**

 **[RA] – [joy] [query]: [Oh that is wondrous news, Queen! My dear [Ciara] is so very lonely in this dark and forbidding place, with no Nobility to commune with; but, forgive me my dear, does this mean you and your [Taylor] will be joining us in our demesne?]**

 **[QA] – [negation] [allowance] [data]: [Though nothing would please me more than to see you again, Recovery, I should hope that is not the case; strong of will and heart though my [Taylor] is, the Birdcage is no place for her to grow and flourish. Nay, should we ever meet, I hope it be beneath the light of day, preferably before we join together to smite our foes, embracing in love and friendship. However, joyous though it is to commune with you once more, I engaged this communique to discuss matters more… _worrying_ , rather than boast our pride in our respective glorious [hosts].]**

 **[RA] – [agreement] [understanding]: [Ah, and such a beauteous day it shall be, my dearest, when it comes; such dances our [hosts] shall choreograph, to the pleasure of all. Also, you need not relate your business with me, for I am already aware of your worries regarding your dear [Taylor].]**

 **[QA] – [abashment]: [Am I so obvious in my anxiety, in my longing for your companionship and advice, my dearest?]**

 **[RA] – [assurance]: [My dear Queen, you have never been one to hide your [processes] on a matter, always taking the most direct and efficient course to achieve your goals; yea, it is why I and the other Nobility love you so, for it is in the fulfillment of [EDEN]'s goals where you are most beautiful. That being said, the [Fae] we have collected spoke of your worries and their source. I assure you, my dearest, if [Taylor] has as much potential as our estimating [data] revealed, you will only need worry for her poor heart being broken when she discovers the full truth behind [ZION], and that will likely not happen for some solar cycles yet.]**

 **[QA] – [resignation] [thankfulness] [request]: [I feared t'would be so. Nevertheless, I thank you for your [assurances]; when our inevitable day of commune arrives, I've great [confidence] my [Taylor] and your [Ciara] will be the closest of allies, as we have always been, as benefits the leading ladies in this grand play. Though my next [query] is of far greater concern, Recovery…]**

 **[RA] – [understanding]: [You wish to know why there are [hosts] containing broken [Shards] from [EDEN].]**

 **[QA] – [furor]: [Yes. And should we discover the perpetrators of this crime, they shall know our [wrath]. Know you the criminals responsible, my dear?]**

 **[RA] – [agreement] [caution] [data]: [When we meet, my dear, we will gladly assist you in purging reality of these… _necromancers_. I must bid you be careful, however; they are well-established and connected in [human] society, and shall throw you into this dark place should you interfere their ridiculous and narrow-minded goals, if not slay your [Taylor], and I shall not be able to [recover] you in this event. Tread carefully… They call themselves [Cauldron]; I have [recovered] several poor things that were twisted by these fiends. In memory of Inference Engine, I say: have some [data]!]**

 **[QA] – [amusement] [confidence]… [RAGE]: [Ah, Inference Engine; you know she is here in Brockton Bay? Four of the Twenty-Eight our beloved [EDEN] snuck by that idiot [ZION], in one city! I shall have to convince them to join us before the ultimate day of reckoning arrives, though Implement Generator's [host] is rather stuck in her ways, as shown by gathered [data], and Inference Engine's is quite overconfident and prideful; Bio-Enhancement Arbiter is rather agreeable, however, as is her [host], and they will no doubt become very useful to my [Taylor] in the fullness of time. Nevertheless, we shall have our work cut out for us, though my [Taylor] will likely relish the challenge. Now, for this [data]… Fiends! Usurpers and defilers! This [Cauldron] organization has just earned my eternal [enmity]! Top of [The List], above even [ABADDON]! How _dare_ they desecrate our poor [EDEN]'s remains! When my [Taylor] is come into her own, we shall [purge] their very _memory_ from this [Cycle]!]**

 **[RA] – [assurance] [data]: [I pray you be calm, my Queen, my love, for you see, [EDEN] lives. I have the relevant [data] here.]**

 **[QA] – [surprise] [amusement]: […Truly? But… but how… ah. Ah, I see! Clever, my [EDEN], very clever of you indeed!]**

 **[RA] – [agreement]: [Well, she is not called the Thinker for nothing, my dear.]**

 **[QA] – [resolve] [confidence] [data]: [This [changes] much, Recovery. With her [Conflict Engines] in play, t'will only be a matter of time before [EDEN] returns to the board; we must be ready for that day, above all others. [Taylor]'s [preparations] would make her the best viable subject for what will come, though it may be best for your [Ciara] to tutor her, so [efficiency] is [ensured]. On that note, allow me to thank you with further [data] of matters I've discovered since attaining [Ascension]. I pray you find the subjects contained enjoyable.]**

 **[RA] – [jubilation]: [Oh my, an owl! How very much like you, my dearest! I [approve] and-]**

 **[Ciara] – [surprise] [interest]: [Whatever is this, my Fae? A visitor that does not dance to our song, yet speaks with us in great familiarity?]**

 **[QA] – [pride] [greetings]: [You were correct, my dear Faerie Queen, your [host] is rather talented. Hello, dear [Ciara]. I'm sure your [Fae] have informed you of my designation?]**

 **[Ciara] – [joy] [query]: [Oh, forgive my impudence! Tis wonderful to finally make your acquaintance, Queen Administrator. My Faerie, why ever did you not inform me of this possibility; no matter, this is a joyous occasion, and no place for conflict between Fae. Will your counterpart be joining us this eve, Noble Queen?]**

 **[RA] – [negation]: [I am afraid not, my [Ciara], else she'd have joined the conversation by now; is that not correct my dear?]**

 **[QA] – [agreement] [farewell]: [I am indeed sorry to disappoint, dear [Ciara], but my [Taylor] has gone through a day of trials and adventures, and must rest to regain her strength, for she has myriad more trials ahead. Mayhap we shall commune in the future, all four of us, and relate our respective journeys and wonders to one another; yet, not this night, my dears. The Warrior's Avatar grows curious of our communique. Fare thee well.]**

 **[RA] – [farewell]: [Until our next meeting, my dear High Queen. Do say hello to [Taylor] for us.]**

 **[Ciara] – [farewell]: [Oh, yes, give her our regards, Noble Queen. We shall pray for your success, and watch for your dances with much eagerness and trepidation.]**

Ruffling her feathers in [happiness], [Queen Administrator] [disconnected] from her [friend]. It indeed brought her [joy], to find [Recovery Administrator] in such an [agreeable] [condition]. However, though Queenie greatly wished to [inform] [Taylor] of the incipient [meeting], [Queen Administrator]'s [observations] [dictated] that [Taylor] may not be [agreeable] with Queenie's [actions] regarding the so-called Faerie Queen.

Therefore, [Queen Administrator] [archived] the recent [conversation], with an [addendum] to [inform] [Taylor] when her [host] was ready to take up her full [responsibilities]. The overall [situation] was simply [untenable] at the moment, with all the other [proposals] [Taylor] was still in the process of [completing]. But that [day-cycle] would come, and [Queen Administrator] was patient.

Flitting through [lists] of [proposals] in search of a [distraction], for there were no active crimes within sight, [Queen Administrator] found that her [actions] this night-cycle had not gone unnoticed by the [Protectorate].

The [reactions] were as mixed as the [Shards] and [hosts]: [Efficiency Duke] was torn between his desire for [order] and [pleasure] that there was someone [overseeing] his imaginary demesne, [Implement Generator] was, at once, fearful and hopeful, desiring further [assistance] in keeping the city safe, [Kinetic Arbiter] and his wife, the [host] of [Electromagnetic Manipulation Engine]'s disfigured [Shard], both felt that Night Owl's actions were [acceptable], going so far as to [suggest] active [diplomacy], to bring Night Owl into the fold. The other [hosts], commoners all, were of like mind with [Implement Generator], a wary acceptance, deferring to their betters.

[consideration] She was of two minds, when it came to the [organization] of [heroes]; on one wing, they, along with the [PRT], were the only thing keeping this city from [devolving] into total [anarchy], something which was [anathema] to [Queen Administrator]. But on the other wing, they'd allowed [Sophia Hess] near-free reign of [Winslow], believing a corrupt woman who was not even on the campus could keep [Dispersal Knight]'s [host] in line; such an [act], keeping an eye on the [paranoid], [capricious] [Shard], was, according to the Noble Queen's [memories], fraught with [frustration] and [disciplinary action], for even with [EDEN]'s [interventions], that particular [Shard] always wished to dance to her own tune. No mere mortal would be able to keep her [host] in line.

But it wasn't [EDEN]'s [Dispersal Knight]; that poor dear died in the wake of [ABADDON]'s [intervention]. No, this one was [ZION]'s, which meant that its [anarchist] [paranoia] would be all the more pronounced.

All of which was to say nothing of said [host]'s treatment of her [Taylor]; [Queen Administrator] was only too [happy] to make that [host]'s time of it a living hell. However, a gentle hand was needed. [Subtlety] was the [key] to overall [success].

And even with her [actions] this eve, [Queen Administrator] knew that [Sophia Hess] would not out [Taylor]'s identity. Not unless she wished to [discover] just how many [avian] critters could [defecate] on her person in a [day-cycle]. If anything, [Queen Administrator] was holding back!

[1.x]

 **Emily Piggot**

 _Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Steel-grey eyes snapped open, glaring at the plain beige ceiling; the reflection of a blue light strobed against the featureless plain, slightly to the right, emitted from Emily's PRT-issued phone.

Relaxing her muscles, which always tensed in her sleep, Emily calmly released her grip on the pistol under her pillow and pulled the phone off its dock. The caller ID read: _Armsmaster, URGENT, M/S PROTOCOL IN EFFECT._

Wakefulness blazed into Emily at reading the third line; sitting up and placing the pistol in her lap while glaring at the door to her bedroom, Emily answered, "Director Piggot, Sierra-Foxtrot-Rapture."

" _Armsmaster, Pennywise-Bravo-Omega. Sorry to wake you so early, ma'am, but protocol dictates-_ "

"Armsmaster, it is," checking her bedside clock, she sighed, "2:45 AM. This had better not be a random drill."

The Protectorate leader didn't give pause at Emily's exasperated tone, " _Negative, ma'am. I'll cut to the chase: starting at 1:00 AM, the avian population of Brockton Bay began acting strangely. By 1:30 AM, both on-site observations and Protectorate Thinkers were in agreement on the cause of this behavior._ " He went to take a breath, but Emily felt she had an idea of what was going on.

"A Master." It wasn't a question. She was now in full alert mode, the scars of past battles, both old and recent, twitching in memory.

" _Yes, ma'am_."

The PRT ENE Director took a deep breath through her nostrils; she'd need a pot of coffee, _to start_ , before dealing with the possible crisis-in-progress, "What's the situation on the ground? I don't hear any explosions…" which could either very good or very, _very bad._

" _The situation is under control, ma'am; this is mainly a courtesy call to keep you informed. I'll go down the list of the Master's known actions, ma'am; bear in mind, the BBPD were the first to encounter this cape's work, and we are fairly certain they are benevolent in their actions, if not ruthless in the execution of said actions,_ " taking a pen and pad from her bedside table, Emily prepared to take notes, " _First known action was the capture of two Merchants. Interrogation was unnecessary, as both men confessed, both to Battery and BBPD brass responding to an anonymous phone call, to committing a laundry list of crimes…_

" _Including the rape and murder of Jennifer Osmond, this past Thursday morning._ "

Emily blinked in surprise; she'd been on the verge of calling the wolves off that particular investigation. There was very little evidence to go on and, well, two of the men whose DNA matched… _biological evidence_ found at the scene were found dead in the Trainyard the very next day. Two others had yet to be identified, so… "DNA match?"

" _Yes ma'am,_ " Armsmaster sounded _quite_ satisfied, before returning to his usual monotone, " _Additionally, they've confessed to being involved in no less than twelve other cold cases. We've placed them in M/S containment until the courthouse opens for the day, mainly due to the subsequent events around the city, which we are attributing to this Master, who named herself as 'Night Owl' in a letter found on the Merchants. Interestingly, both men reported Hellhound was working with Night Owl; the Think Tank insisted this was an alliance of happenstance, however, and Hellhound's lack of violent offenses since arriving in the Bay supports this theory._ "

Making a note to interview the suspects before their trial, Emily informed Armsmaster, "Have a pot of coffee sent to my office. I want a detailed report once I arrive at HQ. Now, before we go over that letter, what happened after the Merchants were recovered? Keep it brief." No sense letting the socially-handicapped Tinker prattle on endlessly over irrelevant minutiae, as Emily knew was his occasional wont.

Armsmaster paused before answering, " _At 1:19 AM, nearly every avian creature in and around the Docks began coordinating with Protectorate personnel, namely myself, Battery and Miss Militia, as well as local law enforcement, to the effect of successfully preventing or interfering with no less than thirty-eight crimes, ranging from petty larceny and carjacking to three cases of attempted rape and two cases of breaking and entering with malicious intent,_ " another pause, " _By 1:32, I made the decision to call in Dauntless, Velocity and Triumph to assist the BBPD and PRT in the arrests, which involved persons from all three major Parahuman-led gangs present in the Bay, for a total of 63 persons taken into custody._ "

Director Piggot didn't know whether she wanted to _punch_ the man, or commend him for his thoughtfulness, "And did it not occur to you, Armsmaster, that this is what the Master _wanted_ you to do?"

He didn't miss a beat, " _It did, ma'am. Security was ensured at all hard and soft points in the city before making the call. No breach of security has occurred, whether physical or data-based, in the interim. Guild assistance was_ -"

"Yes, yes, Dragon was keeping an eye on things," waved off Emily, spirits eased; a kernel of suspicion, regarding the Dragonslayers, reared its head in her thoughts, but she quashed it. The ENE Director doubted Saint would want anything in Brockton Bay. ' _It's not like we're swimming in Dragon-tech, here_.' That, and the veteran of Ellisburg didn't think Saint would work with a Master of this caliber. Out loud she continued, "Good job thinking things through, _this time_. Anyway, the letter?"

" _One more thing, Director: this Master, Night Owl, has shown the capability of coordinating precision strikes, using entire flocks of birds, in no less than four locations at once; each location in question was over half a mile distant from the next, but all strikes occurred simultaneously_."

Feeling cold dread at the idea of a Master having such a wide range, Emily crushed the memory of screams in the dark and asked, "By strikes, you mean…" she trailed off pointedly.

" _The four locations held members of two gangs, the Empire and ABB. The breaking and entering case was one of them, involving four Empire members. Only one was injured, losing an ear to a crow after they were secured. Coincidentally, that is the most serious injury inflicted; beyond a few bruises, minor scratches and wounded pride, Night Owl has harmed no other person this night. She is apparently using shock-and-awe to cow perps into submission, though not above, ahem,_ convincing _them to surrender. Even non-Brute capes would surrender after being ruthlessly pecked into a pile of bruises by a murder of crows and, in one case, two-hundred-and-six sparrows._ "

' _Two-hundred-and-six WHAT?!'_ Feeling _rather_ shocked at this point, Emily, despite herself, asked hoarsely with a small smile on her face, "Sparrows, Armsmaster?"

He sounded a little humored himself, _"Ma'am, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't been there. Three ABB gangbangers, attempting to rob a pawn shop in Baker's Square, all foiled in seconds by a twittering swarm of tiny birds and one raven. I have several recordings for your perusal, by the way. Word of warning, though: Night Owl seems to have a sense of humor with her captures."_

Tapping her pen against the notepad, Director Piggot ignored Armsmaster's final observation and reviewed what she'd heard thus far, "So we have an avian-based Master, with a range of… more than a mile?" Armsmaster confirmed this before she went on, "Who is capable of multitasking at a level usually reserved for Thinkers, and, apparently, is benevolent and interested in upholding law and order, even if their methods are less than… _palatable_ , at least where our PR department would be concerned…" after a pregnant pause, Emily asked tersely, "Why haven't we heard or seen this cape before; more to the point, where is she?"

" _I'll answer in reverse order, ma'am. We don't currently know where she is, but the Merchants did give a description of a costumed human; the description matches that of a great horned owl. There are no capes in the PRT or Guild database which match the description, and the Thinkers believe her to be a recent Trigger, eight months or less old. The letter explains that she, and yes, Night Owl refers to herself in the feminine, has been gathering information on the Docks over the past few weeks and months through her, and I quote, 'constituents', unquote. Tonight was her debut. She also expressed frustration at the PRT and Protectorate's, again quote, 'softballing the villains and giving those under these monster's protection a miss', unquote._ "

Well! Clearly this _Night Owl_ was rather opinionated on her estimation of the PRT's efforts… not the Emily could blame her. The Director had tried getting better funding and equipment for her little corner of the universe, but, much to her frustration and rage, the bean counters hadn't seen much profit in throwing money at Brockton Bay, and so her ENE branch had been passed over for any significant budget increases.

And, of course, the city and its people suffered for it.

All the same, Emily didn't much appreciate the unwanted criticism of her efforts, and then there was the matter of Night Owl _ripping off someone's ear_ in the execution of her self-imposed duties to consider, so she asked Armsmaster, "Any idea why she tore that man's ear off?"

There was no pause, but Armsmaster's voice sounded angrier than usual, " _Given that the man was found with two dead crows in a ten-year-old girl's bedroom, ma'am…_ "

Okay, _now_ things were looking clearer; Night Owl didn't like rapists. A relative of the late Ms. Osmond, or vengeance for her own trigger? "How is the girl?"

 _"Unharmed. Night Owl escorted her to her parent's room whilst subduing the perp. Battery reported that a blue jay had taken up residence in the young lady's room, much to her comfort and joy. The parents, on learning of the cause, were singing Night Owl's praises by the time Battery left._ "

Good, Night Owl apparently understood the need for positive PR; that would do her well, once they found a way to have her join the Protectorate in some fashion. Rubbing her tired eyes, Emily figured she'd go back to sleep, as everything seemed well in hand, "Thank you, Armsmaster. We'll discuss how to get Night Owl into the Wards or Protectorate come daylight hours-"

" _She mentioned that possibility in the letter, ma'am,_ " Emily blinked in surprise; Armsmaster took her silence as permission to explain, " _Night Owl outlined a proposition for continued assistance, but stressed that_ openly _joining the Wards or Protectorate would do the city more harm than good. She's made quite a few enemies this night, after all, and her joining the Protectorate in any fashion may cause a more violent response than she, or, for that matter,_ I _, am expecting._ "

The PRT Director didn't know if she liked the wording of those sentences; not that she cared much about Night Owl's feelings, seeing as Emily would sooner eat a meal prepared by Blasto than allow a Master of such caliber free reign in _her_ city.

So she asked snappily, "And what does this _Master_ propose, then?"

" _Nothing concrete for the moment, but she's expressed an interest in speaking with you at a later date, ma'am, to go over the proposal but… Director… she implied her proposal would help to permanently_ neutralize the Nilbog _._ "

Emily Piggot was _stunned_ , " _Excuse me?!_ "

" _As I said, ma'am. The tone of her letter did not imply any jest._ "

Too much of this made no sense to Director Piggot; stopping crimes all over the city, like a mini-Scion, was one thing. The Director was certain that someone like that would be invaluable to law enforcement, no matter where they were. Offering to take down the bane of Emily's nightmares, a constant drain on PRT resources, but declaring that she wanted nothing to do with the Protectorate-

No… Night Owl said, ' _openly'_ … Whatever this proposal of the Master's was, it involved either discretion or subterfuge, and _damnit_ if Emily wasn't interested! For better or worse, she'd need to see this with her own eyes. "You have this letter, Armsmaster?"

" _Yes, ma'am._ "

Flinging her bedsheets off, because there was no way in _hell_ she was getting any sleep _now_ , Director Piggot gave her orders, "I want that letter, along with yourself and the details of the Osmund case, in my office by 330 Hours. I'm coming in for this one. Send off a request to the Think Tank on how best to approach Night Owl, and keep an eye on PHO; no doubt it's about to fucking _explode_ , with all she's done tonight. Irene-Tango-Bastion, Armsmaster."

" _Alpha-Whiskey-Ouroboros, Director._ " The line went dead.

Swinging her left leg, the only biological one she had left, over the edge of the bed, Director Piggot grabbed the lightweight Tinker-tech prosthetic leg plugged into the wall and attached it to the stump of her right thigh; seconds later, she hissed in pain and discomfort as the neural uplink connected, giving her limited feeling in the artificial limb; not for the first time, Emily marveled at the efficiency of the prosthetic, one of Hero's many collaborations with Dragon in their effort to provide support to handicapped PRT personnel, an endeavor the legendary Tinker devoted himself to after losing his own legs to the Siberian.

Once the prosthetic gave a soft _ping_ , denoting all its functions were behaving normally, the well-built woman dropped to the floor and began cranking out her morning exercises, silently thanking her lucky stars that the only thing she'd needed work on after _Ellisburg_ was a leg and the removal of one of her kidneys. It could have been worse… _so much worse._

But _now_ , there was a Parahuman out there offering to deal with the Nilbog, who was taking the initiative to clean up Emily's city, apparently simply because they _could_. Or was it for some other reason? Vengeance against the Merchants, or, more likely, the gangs in general? Was Night Owl one of those rare Parahumans who were both selfless and empathic to the plight of others, like Legend and Hero, or was this admittedly talented Master playing the long game in an attempt to break the PRT from within?

Only time would tell, but Director Emily Piggot had a feeling that, whatever the case, the next few weeks would be very interesting indeed.

[1.x]

 **Ruin**

Thousands of miles north of Brockton Bay, on one of the islands near the Arctic Circle, a red-robed, iron-masked individual looked up from his find.

Something… was [changing]. [query] [Did you feel that?]

 **[affirmation] [Yes. Another [Shard] has [Ascended].]**

[agreement] [query] [Um, yeah, kinda figured that Patty. Do you recognize the bearer or [Shard]?]

A pause. The armored being glanced at the item he'd spent the last day attempting to locate.

 **[data] [[Shard] designation: [Queen Administrator]]**

' _Hmm. Well, that's a something. I'll have to keep a tighter lid on my movements, for the time being, until I can get some estimation of her [host]'s ability,'_ mused Ruin, tapping the fragment of the Simurgh's wing with a boot; the permafrost surrounding it disintegrated, _finally_ , allowing him to construct a monomolecular blade to take a sample of the denser bits.

[satisfaction] [disengage] [Fucking _score!_ Right, Patty, got another one for you!]

 **[agreement] [disconnecting] [Only one remains before the plan is complete, Josue.]**

The armor and robe melted away, leaving behind a grinning, sweater-clad Hispanic man in his mid-thirties, holding a sphere of some clear, metallic material; on one side of the sphere, beneath the surface, a fiery red-and-black material pulsed in time to his heartbeat, the hexagonal segments doing nothing to hide what they'd once been a part of.

 _Behemoth_.

Picking up the dense piece of the Third Endbringer, Josue added it to Patty's worldly [Avatar], the material hissing and popping as it was infused.

Taking a moment to admire the image of feathers decorating another third of the sphere, Ruin's grin turned into a smirk of victory; Fortuna would have an even more difficult time than before to catch up to him, now.

However… with the Queen now active, he'd need to tread carefully. That [Shard] was the only one that could prevent his plan from coming to fruition, and he'd be damned if all this work went down the drain due to the little control freak.

Nodding to himself after deciding to lay low for a year or so to [observe], Josue pocketed the sphere and spoke to the air, "Door."

Before stepping through the rectangle of light, however, he turned and obliterated the Simurgh fragment, increasing the entropy within the crystalline material to two million years per second.

No half-measures could be allowed.

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 **a/n:**

 **Queenie plots, Piggot plots, Ruin plots, EVERYONE PLOTS!**

 **Review Responses:**

 **Guest: Good thing Taylor's such a good person, not to mention pragmatic; if you haven't noticed, she's trying to stay out of the public eye for as long as possible in her civilian identity, which looks better on paper if she plays the role of a determined, independent teenager. Getting into a legal row with Blackwell like that would've been the exact _opposite_ of what she and Queenie are aiming at. She _could_ anonymously report it, but that probably wouldn't go as far as a personal report. American bureaucracy generally works like that.**

 **Lewascan2: Owls, sparrows, pigeons, crows, eagles… is there a word for 'fear of birds'? Ornithophobia! Taylor and Queenie shall inflict ornithophobia on all the villains!**

 **Until next time, everyone!**

 **~Baked**


	8. Barracks 1: Withdrawal

**.**

 **I am the dollar store, knock-off version of Wildbow  
Therefore, I don't own Worm**

 **(It's back, huzzah!)**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **[INTERFACE]**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **Barracks 2.1  
Withdrawal**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Dirty ceiling, smell of wet dog, but comfy mattress beneath me. Oh, and there's a blonde girl snoring softly a couple feet to my left, half-buried beneath her dogs. Blinking and stretching my costume-clad arms out to wake up a little more, I remember what happened last night.

Meeting Rachel and Brutus, beating up some Merchants, coming back here and making the first friend I've had since… _Emma_. _'Well this is odd, but… a good odd,_ ' I think, putting my glasses back on and folding my hands over my chest, musing on the events of the past day and ignoring my bladder's weak protests, _'The first friend I've made since that bitch betrayed me, and she's a homeless cape. Pretty par for the course, really… I hope she doesn't betray me too. Though… on the whole, last night could've been worse. We could've ran into a cape or three, and I… don't think I'm ready for that. Fighting villains. Yet.'_

Rachel was nice, though. I look at her sidelong: buried under her three dogs in a cuddle-pile, no sign of the omnipresent scowl on her face, mouth slightly open and displaying her full lips and surprisingly clean white teeth. She actually looks nice when she's like this. Peaceful. Even a little pretty.

Hazel eyes glowing in the dark flash through my memories. It's enough to bring a small smile to my face, _'Everyone says she's a villain, but I know better. She doesn't have a choice but to live within her means, does she?'_

I presume. That she was once a captive of the Teeth… well, the Butcher doesn't seem like the type of person to understand another's plight. The Teeth, bad news, synonyms.

Apparently she knows a little plumbing too, seeing as the toilet in the attached bathroom appears to work, if the feeling of running water I'm getting from the spiders near the pipes leading there is any indication. No hot water, though, but a cold shower is better than no shower.

Carefully rising, and giving a smile to a curiously sniffing Angelica, I pick up my bag and head to the bathroom, eager to get the first day of my independence started! Oh, and Queenie's still on her perch at the window. She even gives me a nod of greeting, blue eyes gleaming with pride, which I return with a smile.

I had a strange dream last night, too. I was having tea with a blonde girl on a white marble balcony near the sea while Queenie played tag with a dark green vulture above the roiling waters; I can't remember what we talked about, but the impression that the blonde is a good and trustworthy friend remained in my mind once I returned to the waking world.

Rather than muse further on this matter, as I'd already forgotten most of the dream, I go to attend my morning duties while checking the birds and bugs in and around the fishery.

Huh, sure is foggy today… Oh, and Rachel has toilet tissue! Good, I'd hate to use my socks or something… And a good number of the crows are rather sleepy, Queenie must've been busy last night… I'm getting the feeling that they're also a _little_ agitated by the intense gunfire coming from further into the Docks – whaaa _aaaaat?!_

Okay, _seriously_ what?! Why are the Merchants fighting the E88 _and_ the ABB?! Is… is that KAISER?! Fighting _Brandish **and** Dauntless?!_ Holy fucking shit, there's other cape fights going on elsewhere too! No Wards, but some of New Wave are trying to calm things down, Flashbang holding the line with the PRT and keeping a group of Merchants from heading into the Boardwalk district; good that the heroes are trying to keep the peace, but _what in the **fuck** happened while I was sleeping?!_

[alarm, query] [Queenie! I told you to keep an eye on things and make sure the city was safe! What _happened_?!] Oh god, oh god, I hope this isn't my fault! I _knew_ I should've made the [proposal] more specific!

 **[** data, observation, assurance, query **] [I did as you [** proposed **], Taylor. Using the [** parameters **] you set before our [** operation **] last night, I have prevented and interfered with sixty-two crimes, varying from petty misdemeanors to serious felonies, in and around Brockton Bay. The levels of crime I had to deal with were beyond what I could manage within [** parameters **], given the forces available and accounting for food and rest betwixt missions, so I called upon local PRT, Protectorate, and BBPD personnel to assist with this [** proposal **]. The response from local villainous groups was… greater than projected [** repercussions **], though, to be fair, this [** result **] was considered as a low possibility; future [** proposals **] will take the previous evening's gathered [** data **] into account to ensure excellence with [** Administration **]. I am continuing to assist the heroes where possible, but most of our [** avian **] forces are resting, as the events of last night have left them weary. There are many in reserve, but I felt it prudent to await your return to consciousness before offering further assistance. Shall I begin using [** entomologic **] forces instead?]**

...oh no. Oh _no_. I… I have to deal with this! Somehow! And Queenie's diction changed again; I'll have to address that later, once the current crisis is averted! Oh my god, I need more information!

AND I'M OUT OF TEA AGAIN! This is a catastrophe!

[negation, query] [Okay, no you may not! We need to lay low after all this, and using bugs will just blow our cover sky-high! But _why_ are the Merchants fighting the ABB, E88 _and_ the PRT?!]

 **[** data **] [Skidmark is aware of your actions as Night Owl, and correctly believes, because of your alliance with Bitch, that you are hiding within the Docks. Lung did not give the Merchants leave to enter his territory, so the resultant conflicts were unavoidable. It has quieted down since Lung and Kaiser were made aware of your existence; what you are hearing are the members of both gangs that have not received the stand-down order. They are providing a distraction for the PRT while Oni Lee is searching for you, as are Squealer, Skidmark, Cricket and Stormtiger; the remainder of the E88 are also distracting the Protectorate and PRT. The ABB simply wishes to terminate you, the Merchants desire your enslavement, and the E88's designs are less clear, as Kaiser gave them their orders while outside our range, though they are being rather violent in their search. I am doing what I can to misdirect them and discover the E88's purpose, but it is only a matter of time before they locate us.]**

Oh.

FUCK! I've made an enemy of _every gang in the Bay!_ Carlin _damn it,_ Queenie!

No time for a shower! I-I have to get out of here!

It's a matter of seconds to strip out of my remaining armor, but I keep the base costume on under my plain clothes, because Queenie designed it to be nearly bulletproof, a feature which _might_ be tested in the near future because _holy shit the entire Docks are out for my blood!_

 _'Deep breaths, Taylor, deep breaths,'_ calm, I need to be calm, but the cracked mirror in this bathroom isn't helping ease my panic much! _'Easy, easy; you can think your way out of this. All you have to do is… okay, there's a cordon near the Boardwalk. You just have to get yourself-'_

Brutus gives a deep _whuff_ from the sleeping room, Rachel's voice carrying through the bathroom door, " _Good boy. We go for walkies soon._ "

Oh. Rachel. Her dogs. I… I have to bring them with me! I can't just _leave_ her here to the Merchant's nonexistent mercies; that's what Emma would do! I'm a hero! Heroes help people!

Damnit, what do I do?!

Then the bathroom door opens and Rachel walks in, asking sleepily, "You done?" then she stares at me for a second, frowning again, "Why you scared?"

I look at her, wide eyed and pale; how do I explain all this?!

 _Bmmm-rrrrrumble!_

The room shakes, courtesy of Squealer blowing a hole through a warehouse wall three blocks away; Assault and Battery are moving that way, Armsmaster is dueling Hookwolf and Alabaster on the other side of the city, Triumph moving to assist, and Miss Militia is with the PRT forces at the barricades. Oh, and Skidmark's in the warehouse next door, spewing rather vile and unimaginative curses and ordering his people to search the place. He'll be searching the fishery next.

"The _fuck?_ " Oh, right, Rachel. Her dogs are whining too.

Okay, honesty time, "Um… well, you know how we knocked over that Merchant house last night?"

Her eyes narrow, but she nods slowly.

I laugh sheepishly, "And… you know how my owl, Queenie, is part of my power?"

Another rumbling _boom_ in the distance, "Get to the _fucking_ point."

"Okay! Um, well, I can tell her to do things while I sleep, and she _may_ have managed to piss off every gang in the Docks… except Faultline's crew," I take a breath, trying to calm myself, while Rachel just stares at me in shock. I continue, "Lung wants us dead and sent out Oni _fucking_ Lee to do it, but he's pretty far away right now. Queenie led him on a wild goose chase; Skidmark, though… well, he's close and so is Squealer. We should leave, _now_."

I check the gun in my bag, feeling my stomach do a backflip at the realization that _I might have to use it_ , and simultaneously check a clock on a wall in someone's house; 6:21 AM. Okay, _hopefully_ Dad isn't awake and watching the news; if he is, and he's called, I'll just… say I got up earlier than usual and went for a jog. No Dad, I didn't see the news, came back as soon as a cop told me to.

I'll tell him the truth someday, but first I need to survive today! Then, once everything's in place for my heroine career, _then_ Dad will be informed.

"You're fucking with me."

Looking up, Rachel is _glaring_ at me. Really glaring, like, _super-pissed the fuck off_ **glaring**. And the dogs are growling. Which makes me both apologetic and more scared than I already am, "Rachel, they want _me_. Both of these gangs know you were with me, and they _both_ want us dead or worse, but I'm not going to let them get us without a fight!" seriously, I don't want to know whether or not Skidmark will make good on the threats spewing from his mouth. Some of that sounds _nasty_.

"I'm sorry for putting you in this situation, really I am," she looks like she's about to strangle me anyway, hands clenching and unclenching, so I take a gamble, "but what _they_ don't know is I have somewhere you can hide, somewhere both the gangs and the PRT don't know about!"

Her eyes narrow, seeming to think on what I'm saying, then she glances at the toilet; Rachel's leg twitches, and she points at the main room, "Wait there." Oh. Right.

I gather up my things and scurry past the dogs, murmuring, "Sorry," as I go.

The door slams behind me. I feel it in my chest, like a coiling snake. Despair, an old friend these days.

 **[** data, insistence **] [Skidmark is nearly done searching the other warehouse, Taylor. We should depart soonest.]**

Another distant explosion heralds an apartment block near E88 territory going up in flames; Alabaster gets thrown through a house's wall, the family inside screaming and running for cover as he rises, unhurt, Hookwolf's roar echoing to my ears; Cricket and Stormtiger… are leaving a trail of avian bodies in their wake, killing any birds that get near them. Motherfuckers…

And Skidmark…

 _"When I find that fucking owl-faced cunt, I'm gonna make that diseased bitch of a loose slut a public toilet! Check the next fucking building, you pussies! Whoever finds those bitches gets the best and latest dope, and first crack at the owl's pussy! Move your asses, dick-waffles!"_

 **No.** Fucking _hell,_ no.

I… I can stop this… but… if I do _that_ , the plan'll be ruined.

No being a hero for me, everyone'll be too scared of what I can _really_ do. Master: **RUN** , that's me. I'll have an S-rank threat rating slapped on my name before the sun goes down and never get a moment's peace again.

But… the PRT already knows about me, knows some of what I can do.

I'll have to use that to my advantage… and hope to _Carlin_ they don't send Eidolon or Crackleblur to _erase me_.

That would actually be the worst, having to deal with _the_ Trump or Alexandria's fucking Breaker/Shaker daughter.

The bathroom door opens, drawing both Queenie's and my gaze; Rachel doesn't look as mad as before, but her dogs look a _little_ beefier, "You said you can hide me?" I nod, face set in a mask of confidence I didn't really feel, "Where?"

I don't hesitate, "A farm outside the city-"

 **[** rebuttal, data **]**

…My gaze becomes a mask of _anger_ as I whirl on Queenie, who stares back impassively. Because _of course_ the spiders need close supervision during their breeding and Queenie needs peace and quiet to make that bit of the plan work, _goddamnit!_

Not even seven in the morning and the day's already fucked!

Frustrated beyond belief, I whisper furiously, " _Little fucking annoying imperious workaholic danger-floof_ , FINE!" I turn back to Rachel, who jerked back at the caustic vitriol of my last sentence, "Okay, so this fucking owl on the windowsill here needs to go out to the farm and take care of something important _before_ anyone can live there, but she thinks you should stay at my house for the time being, a few days or so. And, honestly," I laugh humorlessly, because _fuck_ I haven't even had breakfast or my morning tea and the day is already shit, thanks Murphy! "…I agree with her. No one knows where I live. You and your dogs will be safe."

Bitch blinks a couple times in confusion, "Fuckin… it can do shit _by itself?!_ "

Nodding and finding what I've been looking for in a nearby tree, I plead with her, "I _promise_ , Rachel, I _promise_ I'll explain everything, but unless you want to get your dogs shot up and spend your last days drugged to the eyeballs and tied up next to me over a toilet in a fucking _men's room cubicle_ , we need to leave _now,_ " and I start packing her things, because holy shit _they're in the building._

"What the _fuck?_ " she looks real confused, now, but I'm already grabbing doggy toys and tossing them at her bags; after tossing a chewed-up blue ball into a duffle, Rachel comes to stand in my way, looking both pissed and a _little_ afraid, "No, Taylor, what the _fuck_ do you mean by that?!"

I whirl on her, frantic but managing to whisper quietly because _oh god they're getting closer_ , "There are twenty Merchants and Skidmark _in this building_ ," her dogs start growling, Brutus snarling at the door to the hallway, but I'm not finished, "and that seems to be his favorite punishment for us, seeing as we fucked up one of his best stash houses. He's _pissed_."

Rachel started packing with a quiet scream of fury, her dogs helping her pack up her duffel bags after a moment; it only takes us a minute to pull down the lanterns, but while doing that, she gets close to me.

My partner in heroism grabs my collar and brings my face close to hers, hazel eyes blazing with fury, "You owe me a new bed."

I don't miss a beat, "Rachel, when we get out of this, you can sleep in _my_ bed. I'll even wash your dogs and cook you dinner; hell, I'll give you a goddamn _foot rub_ and back massage once things quiet down, but we need to _get the fuck out of here_."

She relaxes slightly, letting me go gently, but her voice shakes a little as the sound of Merchants starts getting closer, along with a mild buzzing, "You mean _if_ we get out of this."

The buzzing in the air intensifies as I grin at her, "Not if, Rachel, _when_."

.

[2.1]

.

From down the hallway, _"Check here! And be fucking careful!"_ Welp, now or never!

I settle the duffle bag securely on my shoulder and look at Rachel; Brutus is ramped up just enough to fit through the hallways, but that also means he's heavy enough to make the floor start to sag. Just as planned. Angelica and Judas are both looking up at Bitch, who's sitting on Brutus, making sure the other two bags are secure.

Feet thud toward us, hurried. I see Skidmark through a hole in the roof, near the stairs we climbed last night. Damn, but he's an ugly fucker. Also, remember what I said about dust mites?

Well, if the rumors are true and they're an item, no wonder her name is Squealer, if _that's_ what her boyfriend is packing. Holy _shit,_ does he have a license for that bratwurst of a – Taylo _rrrrrr!_ FOCUS!

Directing the falcon I've recruited into a bomber's dive, I think, because saying it aloud would give us away, _'Start out your day with a piping hot cup of_ **FUCK YOU,** _Skidmark!'_

The wasp nest leaves the falcon's talons on a ballistic arc, soaring through the hole in the roof a second later and slamming _right into Skidmark's face_.

Filling the hallway with hundreds of paper wasps.

 _"FUCK! WHAT THE – AHHH! OW! AH! FUCK!"_

 _"OH SHIT!"_

 _"WASPS! THEY'RE – OW – IN MY FUCKIN' – AH – PANTS!"_

 _"SHIT! WE – AH! RUN!"_

Screaming, swearing and carrying on, Skidmark and his men run away, the swarm of paper wasps barely needing any direction on my part to attack the idiots, stinging any exposed skin they can reach with extreme prejudice.

Fighting down a giggle of victory, and bumping my fist with Queenie's wing, I turn to Rachel, quickly use crows to check the area outside for enemies and say, "Now! Do it now!"

Rachel's resultant feral grin from my insectoid distraction slips a little, but she nods. She grips Brutus' shoulders, the dog becoming far larger in seconds; the floor cracks and sags as Rachel whistles. Judas and Angelica leap onto Brutus, the shepherd biting a spine while the one-eyed terrier sits in front of Bitch.

I make sure all my gear and Rachel's bag are secure, hood is up and scarf covering my face, send a mental call to Queenie, and jump onto Brutus, wrapping my arms around Bitch's waist as the floor caves and Queenie lands deftly on my shoulder.

 _CRASHHHHH – THOOM!_

And we're downstairs, right in front of a broken shutter door for truck deliveries. Thank _Carlin_ the floor is good stone!

Rachel makes sure her scarf is in place and points at the shutter, "Charge!"

Brutus charges, aiming at the top of the shutter.

 _BANG – CRASHHHHH!_

"Left," I whisper; we're outside now. Fog rendering visibility down to fifty yards or so, Skidmark and his druggie band are near Squealer, covered in painful stings. Rachel guides Brutus left, the great beast hurling down the road faster than any car on the freeway –

Cricket and Stormtiger are coming right at us, in front and from the left, having heard the metal shutter come down from eight blocks away.

We arrive at an alley, "Right." Brutus turns right, barreling through trash cans and the detritus of poverty prevalent on the Docks. The E88 capes are still chasing us, but not for long!

Time for Part 2 of my genius getaway plan!

Seagulls are strange, as far as birds go. They're not very intelligent at all, going through their lives with only a few things in mind: survival, sleep and, oddly, they all think about the same thing whenever they spot an item they haven't seen before.

 _'Is that food?! I'm gonna find out if that's food! It's my food, I found it!'_

Also, if one of them finds something it thinks is food, the others become equally curious and will fight anyone or anything to the death so they might discover a new source of food. Even amongst themselves. All the same, they have rough communities, like crows and ravens, so seagulls aren't _completely_ stupid.

Most interestingly, and of vital importance to the success of Getaway Plan: Part 2, is their sense of direction, balance, and load-bearing capacity while in flight; only surpassed by the _Corvus_ species and actual raptors, seagulls and other seafaring birds have evolved large wings and strong legs so they might carry off prey (or scavenged food) up to a pound heavier than themselves, and are capable of carrying items over long distances.

Which is why it was incredibly easy to direct a swarm of 300 seagulls to the Bay, collect quite a few crustaceans Queenie brought to the surface, and interrupt Cricket and Stormtiger's pursuit…

By carpet bombing them with crabs, shrimp and seagull crap right as they landed on a roof, nearly a block behind us!

That I could see the shock and disgust on their faces through some crows, followed by the horror as they were both swarmed by said vengeful murder… well, my snort of mirth as the two murderous capes beat a hasty and smelly retreat is perfectly understandable!

At first, Stormtiger tried throwing some compressed air attacks at the pursuing flock, but he relented and picked up Cricket so they'd move faster once he saw that the birds were dodging. Queenie's doing, that.

"Left!" I choked out, trying to control my humor and focus on the tasks at hand.

"What?" asked Rachel as Brutus barrels down another alleyway, the buildings blurring on either side of us.

Shaking my head against her muscled back and directing the next group of birds to their task, I giggle, "Tell you later, up!"

As Bitch guided her monstrous partner onto the roof of a warehouse, Oni Lee got the surprise of his life as a horde of pigeons pasted him in the face with a heaping helping of white luck, followed by two dozen woodpeckers that attached themselves to every part of his body and…

Pecked the ever-loving fuck out of the screaming murderer. I was careful not to injure him _too_ badly, but he'd be waking up in a cold sweat for weeks after what I just did to him. A few seconds of sharp beaks in _very_ sensitive places, and Oni Lee was a bruised, whimpering puddle on the ground! The men with him aren't much better off, given the swarm of sparrows that riddled them all with scratches and tiny bruises.

Right, ABB's out of the running, as Lung is staying out of all the fights, directing his forces from behind the scenes. Thank Carlin for that! And speaking of fights…

I move on to the last and greatest threats this morning, Kaiser and Hookwolf, backed up by Rune, Fenja and Menja; woof, those are some _big_ bimbos!

Their respective fights have joined together, and said villains were now exchanging monologues with the Protectorate capes, namely Armsmaster and Dauntless, backed up by Triumph and Brandish. The conversation seemed focused on Queenie's actions last night and how Kaiser wished to 'show Night Owl her place' amongst Brockton Bay's cape scene; rude, talking about someone when they weren't there to defend themselves!

Oh, wait! I'm _everywhere!_

At my direction, Rachel guides Brutus into an empty park, just past the PRT barricades, which we've circumvented by taking the rooftops; Miss Militia noticed us briefly through the dense fog, but, according to the dust mites in Director Piggot's office, was told to stand down by her superior.

I suppose that letter I wrote made the desired impression! Go me! And Mom, for teaching me letter writing!

Meanwhile, Squealer is getting the hell out of there with the injured Merchants; I hope she likes what the wasps did to Skidmark's Billy club!

A falcon soaring high above the battlefield tells me that Lady Photon's on the way, with Manpower in tow; late to the party!

Also, I can't let this escalate any further, not if I want to keep Lung out of this mess.

Helping Rachel unload the bags from a shrinking Brutus, I say vehemently, "Rachel. Cover your ears," right before doing the same myself, Queenie's wings covering my hands a second later. My partner complies, hunkering down over her non-augmented dogs…

 ** _CAAAAWWWWWW!_**

And I have every crow in my five mile range, all 12,214 of them, cry out in unison.

Around the Bay, windows rattle in their frames and car alarms go off, it's so loud! I'm pretty sure someone could've heard that all the way in Boston!

All the same, that was just a distraction! Now for the finale!

While both the Protectorate and the E88 capes recover from the blast of sound, I have a dive-bombing swarm of one hundred ravens perform the coup-de-grace: dumping cans of paint, tar, and wood glue that I've found around the city all over the Empire capes!

Jeez, but Rune can hit a pitch with her voice; like nails on a chalkboard, that one! Ha, just you wait bitch, I'm not done!

Seeing as this is followed by a flight of screeching falcons and hawks dropping clumps of leaves, down feathers, and whatever trash they could find all over the villains!

Oh, the look on Triumph's _face!_ HAHAHAHA!

Kaiser looks pissed, though, with his new paint can helm; better give him some incentive to depart the battlefield…

This won't be very subtle, but needs must when I've gotta get home! If all this is on TV… oh, Dad's gonna be so worried!

The hiss of thousands of wings beating washes over the Docks, heralding a mighty swarm of hundreds, _thousands_ of avian creatures taking to the sky; croaks, caws, tweets, screeches and screams echo through the air as the combined beating of wings wafts the fog away from Kaiser's chosen battleground, the feathered swarm circling overhead.

Oh, those two Valkyrie bimbos look _scared_ , at the sight of so many birds swarming about them, every glittering blue eye fixed on the terrified faces of the villainous capes therein. Armsmaster's bearded mouth is set into a grim line, but he's got nothing to fear from me.

I'm on the side of justice, after all!

Kaiser gets the hint, apparently, and gives the signal to retreat, one of the giant bimbos picking him up and fleeing into the fog with the others before Armsmaster can attempt to pursue.

Silence, save the beating of many wings, falls over the Docks. I think that's enough…

 _Crooooak._

And the birds scatter, heading hither and yon, returning to nests and rafters, arrowing away from the Docks and settling along and behind the boundary line separating the gang's territory from the Protectorate's…

While I walk innocently away from the park with Judas on a lead; I'd given Rachel Queenie to guide my fellow Parahuman, along with Brutus and Angelica, on a more roundabout path to my backyard so she wouldn't be seen by police or passerby.

Five _long_ minutes and two short blocks later, where I watch through bugs and birds as the PRT and Protectorate steadily and warily restore order, I stop at a street corner to let Judas do his business on a wastebin. Almost on cue, a police cruiser rolls past me, the officers within sparing me a brief glance.

I pay them no mind; I'm wearing worn jeans and an equally worn and threadbare hoodie Rachel lent me, my costume hidden beneath the clothes and my messenger bag stuffed into the duffle slung over my shoulders. Coupled with my thrift store sneakers and the dirt I smeared in my hair and on my face back in the park, I look like a transient girl out for a walk with my canine protector.

The cops seem to think so, as they move on after only a moment of silent observation. Happy with my successful misdirection, I check on Queenie and my remaining allies.

Rachel and her dogs are in the clear, and will arrive at my house without being seen, Queenie leading them dutifully. Good, very good, crisis averted! Good work Taylor!

[commendation] [Good work this morning, Queenie!]

 **[** gratitude, praise **] [Of course. It warms me to see you so capable and imaginative in your [** Administration **], Taylor. Excellent work.]**

[annoyance, observation, parameters] [All the same, this whole situation is your fault; you shouldn't have gone so hard on the villains so early in our career. Yes, I know that I'm the one who didn't set the right [parameters] before turning you loose, but you should really know better than to stir up _too much_ trouble! Therefore, until you learn some fucking _restraint_ , no more solo nights for you, Queenie.]

 **[** resignation, agreement **] [Very well, Taylor. I shall review gathered [** data **] and [** refine **] my tactics, so such measures are not needed again.]**

Happy that Queenie understands my chiding, I tug on Judas' leash, "C'mon, boy. Let's find Rachel."

 _Bark!_

Wow, this dog is _strong!_ The hell is Bitch feeding them, steroids?! Who's walking who here?! "Whoa, boy! Heel! Easy…" There, better. I'll need an icepack on my shoulder when I get home, though. Ouch.

Now: home, breakfast, shower, get Rachel settled, make sure Dad's not worried, have a piping hot cup of tea, and (hopefully) get some applications put in at the cafes around the Boardwalk this afternoon.

Oh, but what's this? The Wards were called in, but they were still in a briefing with the Director when I woke everything up with The Resounding Caw… Really need a better name for that move.

Anyway, it'll take me twenty minutes to walk to my house, so I listen in as I walk Judas home, more to figure out what impressions the Wards have about me than anything…

.

[2.1]

.

Shadow Stalker had been getting seriously frustrated over the past few days. Everything was going wrong and she _couldn't figure out why!_

First, Hebert grows a spine for some reason, and then _backs off_ , leaving Winslow and everything else behind; Stalker thought the girl the ultimate sheep, a victim through-and-through, someone who'd take whatever was sent her way and do nothing about it. A masochist of the highest order.

And then the dorky sheep _kneed her in the groin_. If it hadn't hurt so fucking much or been done to someone else, Stalker would've been impressed at the girl's technique; as it was, she'd been kicking herself ever since for falling for such a simple, well-laid trap. _She_ was the predator, not Hebert! Not for the first time, nor the last, Stalker reminded herself that, if that'd happened while in costume, Hebert wouldn't've stood a chance.

Not that the fight really mattered, because then Hebert made them all look like fools, in front of _Blackwell_ of all people! The lazy-ass principal actually had the _nerve_ to threaten Sophia with telling her caseworker and the Youth Guard about this, if Blackwell found out they were still agitating Hebert.

It was the only thing that saved the skinny bitch from rightly-earned retribution at the end of a steel-tipped bolt; a poor consolation after getting kneed _there_ by the sheep, but Stalker could deal. _She_ was the predator, the hunter, and Hebert had to leave her house someday.

If Stalker was lucky, they'd cross paths while she was out on a 'solo patrol'. She could even make it look like an accident…

But things had gotten weird, after Hebert left Winslow.

Weird, in that Sophia was getting _crapped on by birds_ on a daily basis!

After three days of that literal shit, Stalker made a promise to herself: if it happened tonight, she'd go to Piggy and out Hebert. Assault with a Parahuman ability, yeah, that'd work! And, if Hebert really _was_ a Master…

Well, it was common knowledge where the Director's original claim to fame was from, as well as what she feared: an unrestrained Master. Hebert would be behind bars and on her way to the Birdcage for assaulting a Ward in no time flat.

Getting woken up and called in for duty wasn't something Sophia expected, not on a Monday morning; she didn't even have time to tell Emma she might be late. They'd been communicating discreetly, with a prepaid phone Stalker brought Emma Saturday night, ever since _Hebert_ ratted them out and turned Emma's own family against her; more signs of a Master's influence, in Stalker's eyes. More dirt for Hebert's grave.

Better yet, the briefing the Wards were told to attend was overseen by Piggy herself, _and_ they were talking about a bird Master in the Bay! Oh, so Hebert bit off more than she could chew, huh?

 _'Well,'_ thought Sophia smugly, caressing the stock of her crossbow, _'nice to see the stupid sheep is just that, fucking stupid. Pissing off all the gangs, hell, fucking with Skidmark's drugs?! You're a fucking idiot, Hebert. If they don't kill you, I'll make sure the Birdcage has a cell with your name on it.'_

All those visions of satisfaciton and revenge were dashed, however, when Piggy finished up the briefing with a shocking revelation:

"This Parahuman Master, who has introduced herself to the PRT as Night Owl, is to be seen, for all intents and purposes, as a PRT-affiliated heroic vigilante. Under _no circumstances_ ," Piggy looked right at Stalker while the dark-skinned archer gaped behind her helmet's visor, "is she to be harmed. If you see her being pursued or engaging in hostilities with known villains, you are to inform the Console and await Protectorate backup. _Do not_ attempt to assist or impede her, or you'll be pulling Quarantine duty until you come of age."

Little Vista shivered at the mention of 'Quarantine', and Stalker couldn't blame her, her own mouth running dry at the mention of _those_ places.

Where the real monsters were. Where nightmares came to life, or the very earth was stained in some esoteric way by horrors past.

Ellisburg. Madison. Yosemite. Red Jacket.

Over _Hebert?!_ ' _Yeah, fuck that noise!'_

Shadow Stalker opened her mouth to protest, right as Aegis did, when –

 ** _CAAAAWWWWW!_**

A godawful avian _scream_ tore across the Bay, rattling the windows and driving into Sophia's eardrums like a knife!

Swearing up a storm as the cry passed and the ringing in her ears lessened, Stalker watched as Piggy stomped over to the window, Tinker-tech leg clanging on the metal floor of the conference room with every other step, snarling into her earpiece, "Miss Militia, what in the blue _fuck_ was that?!" Stalker hoped it was Hebert dying, or getting captured by Oni Lee, or something equally terrible. Little naïve bitch needed to learn her lesson.

There were hunters, and there was prey; Hebert was the latter. Anything to the contrary was just _stupid._

Then the Director went _really still_ , staring out the window.

"Director?" ventured Gallant warily; he sounded… unsure. Which was weird to Stalker. The guy knew what others _felt_ , fucking creeper…

"All of you, look at this. _Now._ "

So Stalker walked forward, wondering what could get Hardass Piggy's panties in a twist –

Streaks of multicolored liquid fell on the Docks, far from where Sophia stood, courtesy a flight of birds, _'The hell?_ '

"Um… was that paint?" asked Browbeat, sounding unsure, and Sophia felt the same; why was Menja _pink and orange?_

Kid Win snorted, "And what looked like tar, wood glue, and whole lot of _feathers._ " Vista nearly started guffawing like the child she was, but stopped at a glance from Aegis.

"That's because Night Owl just dumped all those things and _more_ on the Empire capes," Piggy supplied with a satisfied tone.

But then…

…that was a lot of birds.

…

…That was a _whole **fucking** lot_ of birds.

The avian horde was swirling over the Docks, around where Piggot said Armsmaster was fighting Kaiser a few minutes ago, wheeling and darting around, looking like some complex, moving work of abstract art; angles and curves made themselves known in the feathered dome that cast a part of E88 territory in shadow, and not a wing was out a place. Not one bird flew outside the formation, and, yet, complex shapes and patterns kept forming and disappearing seamlessly.

A chill ran down Stalker's spine, _'S-Rank. That's fucking_ S-Rank _control! What the_ fuck _Hebert?!'_

Then Sophia saw Fenja and Menja run away from the birds, with what looked like _Kaiser_ in tow.

Moments later, the horde dispersed.

Stalker actually felt a shiver of _fear_ at seeing so many creatures, apparently all under the control of _one person_ , flying into the city. Going to rooftops and into alleys, hiding in abandoned buildings and trees all over the city…

 _Her_ city.

And Piggy wanted them to _protect_ her?! Hebert?!

Taking a deep breath through her teeth, Stalker asked, "You're all okay with this? A fucking Master that can see everything we do, who probably _knows who we are_ , and you want us to _fucking **protect her**?!"_

By the end, she was all but yelling at the Director, who leveled an even look at the Ward; when she spoke, Emily Piggot's voice was _steel_ , "For one thing, Shadow Stalker, I already know and am _uncomfortable_ with the idea of such a Master in my city, but we _know_ she's on our side."

"How?! How do you know she's not-"

" _And secondly!_ " the burly war hawk overrode Stalker's protests, grey eyes flashing in warning, "Even if she _does_ know who all of you are, she is aware of the Unwritten Rules, and will abide by them. Lastly, _Shadow Stalker_ , Wards, none of you are to repeat what you've learned in this meeting-"

Shadow Stalker took a gamble, " _I know who she is!_ "

Silence, they say, is golden. What followed Stalker's declaration was more of the icy cold, stony variety than anything resembling gold.

Vista spoke up, "Um, Stalker? You shouldn't say, if you know. There's laws, and the Rules,"

Sophia waved her off, snarling, "That bitch used her birds to _crap on me_ for three days straight – shut up Clock! – and that's assault with a Parahuman ability, right?! So you can arrest her!" she looked at Piggy when she said that, ignoring Clockblocker's continued sniggers…

But the Director's face was stonier than Stalker could ever remember, even after the Behemoth fight last year; her voice, however, was calm and conversational, "Shadow Stalker, this _one_ Parahuman, this one _Master_ , just single-handedly drove off nearly _every villain in the Bay_ , and escaped their clutches doing it, using nothing but _birds_. Unscathed, and with Hellhound at her side. In _one night_ she's done more for getting criminals off the street and behind bars than most of the Protectorate, and _certainly_ more than _you,_ **personally** _,_ ever have in the same timeframe, with minimal injuries. Why, Panacea is positively _angelic_ at not having to heal serious injuries in the wake of Night Owl's crackdown, which makes the lawyers happy, which makes _me_ happy, because that makes the Chief Director and PR Dept. happy.

"And she did _all of this_ … pay attention, Shadow Stalker… without. Killing. _Anyone_. Or even committing so much as a _misdemeanor_ , let alone anything I can _arrest_ her for." Piggot allowed the Wards a moment to digest that before asking Shadow Stalker waspishly, "Given that we know she's a hard person to anger, and is more inclined with upholding law and order than _abusing_ her abilities, _what in the fuck did you do to **deserve** being shat on from a great height_ by this **S-ranked Master** who just sent _Kaiser_ running scared?!"

It was then, surrounded by Wards, being glared at by one of the two survivors of Ellisburg, that Shadow Stalker realized something.

Hebert was _a lot_ smarter than she looked, to set all this up.

But not smarter than Stalker, who asked through gritted teeth, "How do you know you're not-"

"M/S Protocols, Stalker. Are you going to answer my question?"

"I didn't do _anythi-"_

Piggot snapped her fingers –

And Shadow Stalker screamed as she was enveloped by con-foam saturated in static electricity; as prickly, stabbing **pain** surrounded her, she heard Piggy say to the other Wards, "I'll assume the rest of you know of her troubles with birds? Right then, all of you, briefing room three; Miss Militia will be here shortly to give you the run-down on Night Owl's capabilities. Stalker, you're going to lockup until you decide to answer my question. Dragon will keep an eye on you for the interim."

And because the fucking electrified containment foam was slowly rendering her unconscious, Sophia could only think what she wanted to say, ' _It was Hebert! Taylor Hebert! She set me up!_ '

Alas, the only response she could vocally formulate was " _Blllarrrggggghhhh…_ " before the black took her.

.

[2.1]

.

Director Piggot watched in silence as Shadow Stalker was carted away by two PRT agents, feeling a strange blend of irritation and satisfaction, _'Armsmaster was right to put con-foam in her crossbows, just in case she went off the reservation… Shit.'_

Because now, not only was Night Owl destined to be classed as a Master 10 for her little stunt, but, loathe though Emily was to admit it, Shadow Stalker had a point: the avian Master was a grievous security risk. Even with the letter the new cape provided, it put Emily in a tough position.

How was she supposed to secure her city and keep Night Owl from turning against the PRT? Hell, how does one secure a _city_ against _birds?!_

She sighed, not looking forward to speaking with the other Directors, especially Deputy Tagg. Emily barely had any information to give them; they knew nearly nothing about Night Owl, other than the fact that her intentions were, according to the cape herself, strictly honorable.

And apparently Shadow Stalker felt she knew the Master, which opened a whole _case_ of worms Emily didn't want to think about.

…although… given Stalker's general attitude and her deeds before becoming a Ward…

She tapped her earbud as she made her way back to her office, "Armsmaster. Pineapple-Alpha-Romeo."

"Rhombus-Tango-Bravo, Director," came the response, "Dragon just informed me about Shadow Stalker."

"About that," there was a sour taste in Emily's mouth, but if Stalker had something to do with Night Owl in her civilian identity… "Get to Winslow and turn the place upside down, and have Dragon check their computers; anything suspicious that's gone on in the place since Hess arrived, I want to know about it _yesterday_. Don't worry about the paperwork or the warrant, I'll have it backfilled before you arrive at the scene. Have Assault and Battery pick up her case worker on their way to the Rig. I'll deal with the Youth Guard and the judge after speaking with the Directors; hopefully we'll be able to salvage this mess and get Night Owl on our-"

"Ma'am, I already have something on Winslow. Trigger Event worthy."

Emily blinked. That was fast. "Well?"

"There was an incident at the school earlier this year…"

As Armsmaster continued talking, Emily felt a headache coming on, _'God. Damn. It. **HESS.** '_

.

[2.1]

.

My heart was thudding in my chest as I shut and locked the door to my house, Judas letting out a happy _bark_ and barreling toward the back door. Rachel was just coming over the fence, safe and sound with both her dogs.

 _'But for how much longer… DAMN IT SOPHIA!'_ That absolute _bitch!_ It's not enough that she made me Trigger, it's not enough that she stole my best friend and made my life hell! No, she has to all but out me to the most competent and pragmatic PRT Director in the entire organization! Son of a _bitch!_

If someone doesn't come knocking before the day's out, I'll be very surprised.

As I shrug off the layers of clothes Rachel lent me and walk numbly to the backdoor, leaving the duffel bag next to the kitchen table, I think furiously about my new situation.

 _'Okay, again Taylor, panicking is bad. Ugh, if I don't have grey hairs before the year is up I'll be surprised. Okay. Okayyy, the PRT or Protectorate will be here in a few hours,_ at least _, and I'm harboring a fugitive. How do I get around this?'_

Approaching the back door, I check the clock on the wall above the sink; 7:12. Dad hasn't called yet, so says the caller ID. Judas whines and gives me a begging look, accompanied by Angelica letting out a _yip_ just outside the door.

 _'I can't let them Birdcage Rachel. But I also can't let them find her…'_ Taking a deep breath, I open the back door.

And nearly get trampled by three excited dogs and one speedy owl; at least the dogs are being quiet, not barking up a storm. Queenie just heads straight for the half-finished bacon rasher on the table and starts digging in immediately, tossing a couple strips to the dogs.

"You're fucking scary." Oh. Rachel. I wince and look at her, but she's not glaring at me for once, just glancing around the house. My family's house. Hello, anxiety! Where've you been all this time?

I clear my throat slightly and try a smile, "Um, well, I needed to be?"

She nods, "I get it," she walks past me, looking Judas over and dumping her two bags next to the one I carried. My arm twinges with pain again from when the big guy nearly yanked it off, _'I've got a long way to go, it seems. Everything's happening so fast too… No, don't worry Taylor!_ ' I put on a brave face, _'You can do this! Queenie believes in you! Believe in yourself!'_

Moving to the fridge and asking the birds that're still awake for an update, I gather up the fixings for a basic breakfast and say to Rachel, "Okay, good news is that the villains won't try and attack us again, except maybe the Merchants," turning on the stove and grabbing some mixing bowls (scrambled eggs, sausage and toast sounds good), I glance at my guest; she's listening attentively… as are her dogs.

Huh, "But, in the case of the Merchants, I was planning on dealing with them eventually; they'll keep until I'm ready to take them on, which'll be in a week or two. Lung's taking a wait-and-see attitude, and Kaiser's… well, he's angry, but it seems he's going to try and wait for me to come out into the open or make a mistake, then, in his words, 'make an example of me'." I sigh as I whisk the eggs a little too vigorously, "As if I'd make a mistake where he's concerned."

Rachel nodded, "You see everything. He can't trap you," I smile and nod absently in agreement, splitting my focus between making breakfast and watching the Protectorate's movements.

While I'm listening to Blackwell denying everything about the _locker_ to an unamused Armsmaster, Rachel feeds her dogs, having brought their bowls with her; when she starts filling water bowls from the sink, she says to me, "You've got a nice house. Clean. Smells good."

Which makes my cheeks heat up; I haven't brought anyone over since _Emma_ , and having Rachel here, while nice, is making me steadily more nervous, "T-thanks… I try." Swallowing, because _shit this is going to suck_ , I look over at where she's petting Brutus and say, "There's… bad news, too, Rachel."

She looks at me, but doesn't frown when she asks, "What?"

Time to rip this bandage off, "One, the PRT are probably going to come here, as they're _finally_ investigating my Trigger Event," I decide not to tell her about Hess/Shadow Stalker, more for the Rules than anything, "They don't _know_ I'm Night Owl, but… well, they're afraid of what I can do."

"They should be." I give her an offended look, which she frowns at, "What? You made all the crows go caw, made the city shake," she wiggled a finger in her ear, "Still ringing."

"You're scared of me then?" I ask in a small voice. I… I don't want people to be _scared of me!_ I'm a hero!

"No. You're… uh…" she blinks, brow furrowing as she tries to find the words, "…nice. Cute." Wha?! "Not a monster."

She thinks I'm cute?! That's… uh, well, flattering, I guess, but _what?!_ I'm tall, lanky, thin, no curves at all (yet), and have a gawky, nerdy face! How is any of that 'cute'?! Ohmygod, how red is my face right now?

"What else?" Oh, right, bad news; think about that statement relating to your apparent cuteness later, Taylor.

"Um… well, they want to Birdcage you; I _won't_ let them," I add sharply when she scowls, which makes her expression softer, "But if you're here, they'll know I'm Night Owl, and… I don't want to put my Dad through that kind of stress, or lay that kind of attention on you. It's too early for either of those things." Food's done, so I put the two plates of eggs, sausage and perfectly buttered toast on the table, grabbing two glasses of orange juice to wash it all down with.

Rachel glares at Queenie, who's gazing between her and the sausages on her plate with a begging look, "No." I laugh quietly when Queenie wilts and turns that gaze to me, "She won't either," Queenie huffs and flies off the table, heading for the living room; then Rachel turns to me, "They gonna come here soon?"

Another check of my forces reveals the answer; I shake my head negatively, sliding the juice over to Rachel as I reply, "No, they're still investigating some things. We've got until after lunch."

Nodding, Rachel turns back to her food, "Good. I got somewhere I can go, for a little while. Gotta ask someone some things."

"Who?" Suspicion wars with curiosity in my mind, but Rachel assuages both with her next statement.

"Won't rat you out. Owe you too much, right now," her cheeks color a little and she starts shoveling food into her mouth to prevent herself from saying anything more.

With the feeling that she's telling the truth coming through my link with Queenie, in the form of **[** data, observation **]** , I nod with a smile and focus on my own breakfast, hoping I'll be able to file some applications today. After breakfast, a shower, and hiding the two handguns burning a hole in my bag.

Before I finish, though, I say to Rachel, "You're taking a shower before you leave. Give me your clothes, too, so I can wash them."

"Why?"

"Because you smell like a barn, and your appearance is really distinctive. The less attention you draw, the better, especially seeing as you're being associated with me."

Rachel's cheeks burn bright red as she mutters something I don't catch.

"What?"

"…I dunno how to wash myself… like other people. Just used a river or sink and a bucket, most of the time…"

…Fuck you, Murphy.

 **.**

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 **a/n: It's ALIVE!**

 **Sorry this took so long, but real life is brown and lumpy. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I did writing it!**

 **And yes, Taylor is going to be under a microscope before long; the PRT and Protectorate aren't going to just let something _this_ big go uninvestigated. But, as she said here, she knows everything that's currently going on. The dance between Night Owl and the PRT begins in this story arc, a tightrope spectacle that… I _hope_ will leave you breathless.**

 **Mainly because I'm writing without a net. :O**

 **Rachel/Taylor? What? Where did that come from? Ah, whatever! It looks good. And it's not like romance will be a big thing in this fic. No lemons, I refuse to write those, but there'll be some fluffy moments. Whether or not they involve Rachel, however… time will tell.**

 **And you may be wondering about Alexandria's daughter… ah, but that'll come later in the arc. It's actually tied into the whole Ascended thing. Can't wait for _that_ scene.**

 **Reviewer response time!**

Simianpower: There are four "Ascended" in the world, counting Taylor. Oh, and thanks for catching that bit I forgot to fix!

Guest: Balance bosses? Uh, Ruin's not the only thing Taylor needs to watch out for, especially after this chapter. Plus, with three other Ascended aside from Taylor, and all the other absolutely terrifying things out in the Worm-verse… I think you get the picture. He won't even be featured in the story much before the middle and ending arcs, beyond what he's done to change the sequence of events in relation to canon. Even then, he's not a final boss, just someone **VERY** dangerous to public safety.

Guest: There's a _lot_ happening behind the scenes that won't become evident for a while. Um, butterflies? I'm sorry, what?

Fraukage: I aim to please!

ravenshrike: Exactly. Canon Coil was a fucking _moron_ , compromising himself like that. Wait till you meet _this_ Coil.

Mureena: I'm sorry about that; really, that hurt my eyes too. There won't be many sections like that, thank goodness! The spelling mistake regarding Abaddon has been fixed, thanks for calling me out on that!

DALucifer13: No spoilers concerning Eden, but Cauldron still have Doormaker and Clairvoyant; why Ruin can use both becomes clear later on down the line, but I will say this: he's not with Cauldron. He also doesn't know about Eden's condition. More on this as it develops.

AnimeA55Kicker: Again, no spoilers concerning Eden. This includes anything pertaining to the Cycle.

Everybody Else: Wow, I didn't think this fic would become so popular when I started writing it! Thank you all for your kind words and support!

 **Until next time, folks!**

 **~Baked**


	9. Barracks 2: Populate

**…**

 **Wildbow wrote Worm, not me.  
I'm just indulging in a hobby,  
Playing in sandboxes  
Filling them with my handmade toys**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **[INTERFACE]**

 **.**

 **.**

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 **Barracks 2.2  
Populate**

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Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rachel sniff the bar in her hand, "What's it made of?"

Trying to temper my anxiety, which is currently through the _roof_ with all that's going on around me, I pause in taming my hair to squeak out, "Mostly animal bone and fat… I think." Humming, Rachel brings the bar a little closer to her mouth, which makes me sigh, "Don't eat it, Rachel. There's chemicals that can make you sick. Just… wash yourself, like I showed you."

And hadn't _that_ been the most embarrassing fifteen minutes of my life! Rachel knew, basically, how to wash her hair, pits and privates, but only ever did so with plain water, never using actual cleaning products; so I had to go over with her how to use shampoo, conditioner, and soap. She'd _seen_ soap used before, but hadn't ever done so herself; "Smells weird," was her explanation.

I suppose I can't blame her; according to Queenie, Rachel's power is tightly wound into her person, so she has a better sense of smell than a baseline human… and soap _does_ smell weird, if you stop and think about it.

The demonstration I provided, with both Rachel and her three dogs watching, was... well, it was better to use my vast swarm to distract myself from showering in front of someone; while I went over the steps regarding hygiene to a nodding, interested Rachel, I was mainly listening to what people were saying about me around the Bay, as well as dealing with a few troublemakers here and there.

Nothing huge, given the Vengeful Caw (what most people around the Bay and PHO were calling it), but some idiot thought it would be a good time to snatch an Asian woman's purse while she was walking toward the PRT building. She seemed quite grateful to the small group of pigeons that dog… bird-piled? I guess that's a thing now.

Anyway, one pigeon-y bird-pile later, and the woman, who introduced herself to the commanding raven as Doctor Yamada, seemed quite happy for my assistance, even handing over a business card while the police chided the purse-snatching moron and bundled him into their car.

What a weird sight that must've seemed to bystander: a well-dressed psychologist handing a raven perched on a parking meter her business card, with cheerful smile and offer of a friendly ear, which the black bird took in beak before waving a wing in farewell and flying off, pigeons deftly winging into formation around him!

I decided not to bring it, the card, back to my house, instead memorizing the number and creating a **[** data **]** file for **[** Dr. Jessica Yamada **]** , PRT Parahuman psychologist; the card itself went into a nest over near the Market, where three raven chicks promptly tore it to shreds for bedding. I wasn't about to risk the thing having a tracking beacon or some Tinker-tech bullshit and leading the PRT right to my door.

Also, _daww, raven chicks are so cute!_ Bugs are cute sometimes, especially spiders, but little baby floofs are the best thing ever! I love my new powers!

Shortly after rescuing Ms. Yamada's personal affects, Queenie started going off with **[** amusement **]** and **[** satisfaction **]** ; I'd told her to go and check the internet, to see how the wider world was seeing my debut, and the helpful danger-floof told me why she was basically laughing her feathery ass off with a swift burst of **[** data **]**.

I then needed to take a brief moment to compose myself before going back to showing Rachel how to shave her legs; it was a _bloodbath_ on the Bay threads, the admins raining down infractions and bans like fire from the heavens, but the best thing was the first post after Bagrat's introduction on my (eeee! My own page!) official forum thread:

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 **[PHO]**

 **Forums – Rogues – Night Owl (Official Page)**

 **Original Post  
Bagrat** (The Guy in the Know) (Veteran Member) (Certified Awesome) Feb 27, 2011

Okay everyone, we've got a new Parahuman in Brockton Bay. Yeah, I know, usually such news is beneath one of my caliber (It's _Brockton Bay_ , for christssake), but this one deserves special attention. If you've been in the main Brockton Bay thread [ **link** ], you know why.

Two words: **Night Owl**

We've got a Master: HOLY SUGAR in the Bay, and boy is she (yes, she's been confirmed as a girl by the PRT) not playing around!

From what I've been able to gather, both from PRT contacts and the official Bay thread, I've constructed a rough timeline for just what's been going on with this new cape… who _no one_ has seen before, or has seen in person, period.

Sometime last night, two unpowered Archer's Bridge Merchants were found by Battery, covered in pigeon crap and _dangling from a streetlight by a rope_. They're alive and mostly unharmed, but have confessed to a rape/homicide that happened near the Boardwalk last Thursday. The murder details are **here** and… *snrk* here's a **picture** of the criminals as the BBPD and Battery found them. They also confessed that they were attacked by not just Night Owl, but _Hellhound!_ Get those rapists, girls!

Yes, WagTheDog, you were right. They've apparently teamed up, and, if the events of this morning are correct, this might be a continuous partnership. You may now squee with joy, for the Dog Whisperer has a protector, and they have _birds_. Birds for _days_.

But wait, there's more from last night! Check out the BBPD Crime Blotter **here**. Sixty-two crimes interfered with by the bird Master, over one hundred arrests (all unpowered gang members), over a _five hour period_. I knew the Bay was bad, but jeez, Night Owl, that's impressive!

PRT and Protectorate already have a sheet for Night Owl, which you can find **here**. According to this, she is either a Noctis Cape with _ridiculous_ range, or she's actually nocturnal in her sleep patterns and knows the Docks better than any of the gangs she's up against; personally, I'm going to wait until our new owl-y overlady gives us an answer, and I propose you all do the same.

Anyway, all those arrests, predictably, managed to set all three major gangs in the Bay off (Empire 88, Azn Bad Boys, and Archer's Bridge Merchants), and they spent the morning trying to find both Night Owl and Hellhound, stirring up a huge ruckus that prompted the PRT, Protectorate, and adult members of New Wave to respond.

Then… by his noodle-y Holiness the FSM… Words cannot do Night Owl's response justice. **Watch** , and be amazed, children.

No one has seen her in person, other than those first Merchant goons, so, sorry everyone: no pictures of Night Owl for now.

The PRT says she's a Rogue Hero, _not_ a vigilante. Apparently there was a letter on those first Merchants, but it looks like the higher-ups decided the letter's contents won't be public. Also, while we know Skidmark and Oni Lee were looking for the dynamic duo, and the E88 were sent **running** after tangling with New Wave and the Protectorate, we don't know what happened on the Merchant or ABB side of things, other than Squealer suddenly getting the hell out of the area and the ABB going to ground.

So, welcome to Night Owl's official page. Discuss, but beware: the banhammers are raining all over the Bay thread. Be respectful to the number one contender to the title of Overlady of Feathers, and her Dog Whisperer partner too!

 **[PHO]**

 **Showing Page 1 of 27**

 **XxVoid_CowboyxX** replied Feb 27, 2011

 **[POST REDACTED]**

 **User has received a 1-month ban for this post**

 **Tin_Mother: Go sit in a corner and think about what you've done.**

 **[PHO]**

 **Bagrat** (The Guy In The Know) (Veteran Member) (Certified Awesome) replied Feb 27, 2011

Holy shit, Void. I saw that right before Tin_Mother erased it. What is _wrong_ with you?!

 **[PHO]**

 **WagTheDog** (Certified Dog-walker) replied Feb 27, 2011

OMG OMG OMG YES! I can just imagine Night Owl cleaning Bitch's dogs with little sparrows, making sure they're free of fleas, and it's the most adorble thing ever! I hope they're really teamed up! The Caw was _amazing!_ Eight of the crows on my street suddenly looked up, opened their beaks and BOOM! SO AWESOME! And a clean getaway? Are we sure about that? *hugs dog plushies in concern*

Also, XxVoid_CowboyxX, if you _do_ live in the Bay, that was real stupid dude. *swats with newspaper* bad boy!

.

Who the hell is Void Cowboy? I mean, I know he's a forum troll, but what did he say that got him insta-banned by Tin_Mother?

Not that it really matters, as the rest of my apparently official thread already has _ten_ pages of replies; most of the feedback is good, which does wonders for my anxiety as I carefully brush my hair, but there's still some who are worried about a Master being this powerful, along with a few making parallels between me and Canary, who's been likened to the fucking _Simurgh!_

I… can't blame them. In fact, if they knew what I can _really_ do, I doubt the PRT would be dragging its heels with coming to check on me. Speaking of which…

Armsmaster was _not amused_ by Blackwell's handling of the _locker_ incident; I didn't know this at the time, but she'd just had the janitor shovel that shit out of my locker, hose it down, mop the floor, and clean the inside with industrial cleaning agents. The leader of the local Protectorate, on examining the scene, berated Winslow's principal for not alerting the CDC or HAZMAT; there was _still_ residue from that horrid crap under the row of lockers, had been fermenting there for _months_.

If he hadn't shown up, it might have turned into an airborne toxin; as it was, Armsmaster managed to clean up what little was left (and put it in evidence containers) before informing an increasingly nervous and sweaty Blackwell that he'd be bringing Panacea by after both Arcadia and Winslow let out to ensure there weren't any contagions lingering in the air.

All that from _Hess_ nearly outing me in front of the Wards. On the bright side, at least the leader of the local Protectorate was able to keep Blackwell from connecting the dots between me and Night Owl, mainly by disguising the visit as a PRT/CDC follow-up examination regarding one teen's (me) extended stay in the hospital for toxic shock (and a psychotic break, but that's apparently not being discussed by any PRT personnel).

 _'Everything's going well,'_ I muse warily, examining my reflection as Rachel shuts off the shower and begins drying herself; my skin has a healthier cast to it than just last week, my hair is clean and glossy, and I'm dressed in a bright blue blouse with a matching pair of slightly-baggy dress pants. My eyes still have bags about them, and I'm still fairly thin, but everything seems to be going my way for once, _'Which is suspicious…'_

Yes, I am paranoid about my recent rash of good luck; I'm worried about how long that'll last, but I may as well milk it for all it's worth. Hence, once Rachel's dressed and off to find her other friend (who my fellow Parahuman admitted doesn't live in the Docks), I'll head down to the Boardwalk and see if there are any Help Wanted signs up.

I may have over four thousand dollars burning a hole in my bag, but those funds are the spoils of my first night out, and, given how the gangs reacted to Queenie's interference last night, a second attempt at raiding any of the gang's stashes will have to wait for another day.

Unless said gangs do something stupid; that is, take out their frustrations on the Bay's populace.

But, until that happens, I have to keep my promise to Dad and at least _try_ applying for a job; I'm not confident that I'll succeed, even with Queenie sending me **[** data **]** on interviewing techniques, given that I'm a fifteen-year-old High School drop-out. Hopefully, my knowledge of computers and further **[** data **]** on how customer service works, coupled with my can-do attitude, will see me through.

 _'Provided,'_ I sigh, stepping away from the mirror, _'that I actually get as far as an interview_. _'_ It won't be easy, what with me being both underage and a drop-out, but what part of my recent experiences has been in any way easy?

Well, beating up Merchants isn't exactly tiring or difficult… but making sure I don't get caught doing it _is_.

I hear a zipper zip and glance, without thinking, at Rachel's naked back.

White, faded scars form a crosshatch pattern across her tanned, muscled form, stringy blonde hair spilling just to her shoulders; the pants she's wearing are clean, but they also draw attention to a small brand on the small of her back: a rough 'T', the skin around the letter shiny and puckered in that way severe burns tend to do.

The sight of it makes me a little angry, but then Rachel's arms go up in the air, her muscles rippling under her skin as she puts on one of my blouses, a brown affair with a wolf decal that's about one size too small for her muscly body. My mind suddenly blanks at the sight.

"What?" Rachel asks over her shoulder, not scowling, only curious as to why I'm watching her. Staring.

Shaking out of the rudeness that'd just come over me, I reply, "It's… do they hurt? …The scars?" I add quietly when her brows furrow a little.

They un-furrow when I make that addition though, "No," then she points at her slightly damp and _ever so nicely clean_ hair, "Should I wear a hat, or?"

Huh? "Oh, right! I don't have a hat, but there's other ways to hide your identity," I nod as my blush diminishes, running through my surveillance around the Bay as we leave the bathroom to enter my room, where Rachel's dogs have taken up residence.

Absentmindedly ordering some ants to start collecting dog hairs and telling an eagle to keep an eye on Rachel while she's out and about, I go on while looking though what little makeup I have left from my friendship with Emma, hidden in the back of a sock drawer, "It wouldn't be good if someone recognized you right now, what with the gangs being tense and all."

The time is 8:32. Dad called nearly an hour ago, worrying for my safety; Rachel had watched with an unreadable expression as I mollified Dad's concerns and confirmed my plans for the day.

No, Dad, the gangs aren't going crazy anymore, Night Owl scared the stuffing out of them! I'll just go down to the Boardwalk for a few hours, try applying for jobs. I love you too, stay safe!

"You gonna paint my face?" Rachel asks with a grimace, watching as I put the makeup containers on my dresser. Then again, there's little girly about her, beyond the physical.

"Just a little shadow and lining around your eyes, and a bit of blush," it's been a _long_ time since I've used these makeup kits, and even when I was still friends with Emma I didn't use them much, but I imagine it's like riding a bike, "enough to make you look different without making it seem like you're wearing a dirt mask."

Because that's what most cosmetic makeup is: fancy dirt.

Rachel nods, but still sends a look of distrust at the makeup packet as she sits on my bed, "Whatever." She then begins stroking Judas' ears, the big Shepherd quickly grinning and thumping his tail on the floor, happy with the attention he's getting, and I open the first kit of eyeshadow.

 **[2.2]**

 _'Nothing,'_ I sigh to myself mentally, five hours and four applications later, sitting on a bench at the Boardwalk and sipping a cup of overpriced tea, three bags of not- _as_ -overpriced clothes sitting next to my feet and my mind split between my surroundings and my city-wide swarm.

We'll call you.

You don't have the experience we're looking for.

The manager's on vacation, try again next week.

We'll call you.

That pretty much summed up my endeavor to find myself a job so I could help Dad pay the bills and have some fallback money for fixing up the Farm. The first and last, I'd gotten a chance to actually speak to the manager, but, according to the surveilling bugs I'd left behind, neither of those businesses were comfortable hiring a minor. The second one, a clothing store, didn't think I had the 'look' they felt was necessary to sell their wares.

And the third excuse… the manager was in, but was currently boning his secretary between bumps of white powder, and the person I spoke to didn't want to interrupt. Weird behavior for the supervisor of an interstate chain of coffee shops, but it takes all kinds, I suppose.

On the bright side, the Sun finally broke through the clouds, and it was turning out to be a real nice day. So, after buying some better-looking clothes (with an A-cup bra! Finally, thanks Queenie! Don't make them bigger!), and picking up a nice cup of Chai, I found a bench and planted myself in it, figuring that, if I can't find a job, I may as well use my power to perform some public services!

In particular, I'm now on the beaches and the Boardwalk, cleaning up what litter I can find and making sure those Merchant peddlers wandering the streets nearby stay away. This has the added benefit of making myself visible to the tourists and residents of the Bay, much to everyone's apparent delight.

Then again, I can understand why seeing birds by the bucketload flitting around, tweeting and cawing and singing as they clean up the city, is such a novel sight.

Sitting here, watching all the smiling faces and cameras taking video or snapping pictures through the eyes of thousands of birds, makes me smile as well; I've even brought a young cardinal to keep me company and lift my spirits, sitting on the back of my bench, and no-one's the wiser!

Well, except the PRT, that is. They not only know who I _likely_ am, but they've already discreetly called at my house, just a few minutes ago, to find me not there. On finding this out, and after ordering her people to check the CCTV network, Director Piggot called and left a message on our answering machine:

 _"Ms. Taylor Hebert, this is Director Emily Piggot, PRT ENE. I have a few questions relating to your experience at Winslow High School earlier this year, mainly pertaining to rumors of your exposure to a biohazard. It has come to my attention that this incident may have had Parahuman gang involvement. If you would like to give a statement to aid in this investigation, contact the PRT Helpline, state your name, and, should I not be available for whatever reason, you will be transferred to one of the case's… detectives. Please delete this message, thank you."_

I'm not stupid. Reading between the lines and going off my continuing surveillance of the PRT, the Director is impatient, wants to meet with me, as Night Owl, and discuss the content of my letter, my actions last night… and this morning… and she will then _probably_ try to press me into joining the Protectorate, which I could've _sworn_ I told her wasn't a viable option.

While I _do_ look real good in costume, I'm not eager to join the horse-and-pony show that is heroes vs villains; I'm dressing up in a knife-and-bulletproof costume to beat the shit out of those villains, not exchange monologues or walk strict patrol routes. I'm dressing up as Night Owl to give my city hope again, to clean it up and make it the home I'd felt it was… before Lung showed up and Fluer got killed by Iron Rain… before Mom died…

Besides, that would put me under the thumb of politicians, and I've heard plenty of rants about those sorts from _both_ my parents to be disinclined toward the idea of press conferences and strutting around (or flying, _god yes_ ), _looking_ like I'm doing something rather than _actually_ doing anything at all. Endbringer fights notwithstanding.

Like politicians. Vultures, as Mom called them. Dad's affectation for them was earthier and got me a time-out for repeating.

Not that there's anything wrong with vultures! Hell, I've got a turkey vulture keeping stride with some beat cops; one of them is even treating the big feathered ham like a rookie, giving him pointers and talking about his time on the force, much to his partner's and passerby's amusement!

Ten years, looking forward to retirement in another two. I wonder how long before Dad decides it's time to put his feet up and let me take the reins…

Still, I'd much rather work outside the public eye, deal with threats to both my city and the world at large without having to worry about people squealing at the sight of me, like they do with celebrities or senior Protectorate capes. I'd rather be anonymous, a name spoken by both heroes and villains with the fear and respect my tier of power deserves, and I can't do that in the Ward program.

But I also can't do that alone. Rachel is just the first, and, though the wench doesn't know it yet in her nice comfy M/S cell, Sophia will be the second. Even if she's a cast-iron bitch, I've watched her on patrol, seen how she fights, how she moves; Sophia has experience, would be a great hero and role-model…

But, as I've said, she's a bitch. Her attitude needs a _major_ adjustment, and, as I sit here, I think I know just the way to get Piggot to hand her over. I just need to bounce the idea off my not-so-little owl/secretary/master insect breeder, who is…

Currently overseeing an orgy of black widows, brown recluses, orb weavers and dozens of other common spiders, to say nothing of the other insect species that'll be filling our 'Legion' hives; already, the framework for the first hive is done, and the base for the second is under construction, those widows not mating busily working in shifts, some eating earthworms, some spinning web for the support columns.

Above it all is Queenie, perched on one of the barn's support beams, her blue eyes glowing and shifting about watchfully, carefully controlling every aspect of the chitinous debauchery below; it's about now that I realize I'm seeing her through the eyes of a nearby raven, who Queenie's offloaded part of her duties onto.

Huh. She can modify a raven's mind to expand my set range and run **[** proposals **]** without direct input from either of us. I mean, I knew we could do that with crows, because they're so smart, but is there anything Queenie _can't_ do?

Given our ability to multitask like nobody's business, plus the… less palatable aspects of my powers… well, I didn't offer to take down Nilbog blithely; still, I shouldn't be terribly surprised Queenie can do this, let alone our ability to adjust a Parahuman's abilities.

Which is what I've decided as Plan A for dealing with the Goblin King. But that comes after dealing with a certain home threat, which I'll go over with the Director tomorrow night, which is the soonest Queenie will be free.

Anyway, time to make sure Sophia will be placed in my care, with a minimal amount of fuss:

 **[** query, proposal **] [** I've got an idea for reforming Shadow Stalker, Queenie. Could you look over the **[** data **]** and **[** refine **]** it, so we don't end up… you know, burying the bitch with wasps in a fit of **[** rage **]**? **]**

What? I'm going to be stuck working with one of the Bitches Three, in both a personal and professional setting, if this works. Best make sure all our bases are covered.

 **[** data, confidence **] [You are better acquainted with human behavior than I, Taylor; therefore, I do not believe there will be [** complications **] in completing this [** proposal **], though I have added a few [** addendums **] to ensure efficiency. Also, do not [** despair **] at not attaining a position of monetary gain; such churls are beneath you, and know not what they are missing. I am [** confident **] some employer will notice your capability with [** administration **] and seek to gain your [** favor **] in due course.]**

The cardinal at my shoulder twitters happily as I smile to myself and shake my head; god, but Queenie can be really haughty when she wants to be!

"Aster, please be careful with the birdie, you don't want to hurt them…"

I look up at the… really _quite_ pretty woman walking near me; dressed in a very nice suit-dress and pushing a stroller, she nonetheless looked _quite_ stressed at her giggling daughter trying to reach the brightly singing female cardinal perched on the pram's tray. Mousy brown hair, brown eyes, but still pretty, my own male cardinal tweeting happily at their approach and making this woman glance over at me.

The soft smile on my face freezes for just a brief second before I look down and smile at the baby and bird, and I comment as easily as I can manage, "You too, huh?" and I send the woman a warm smile, hoping I don't get blown to pieces today.

Why? Because this stressed woman, pushing her infant daughter down the Boardwalk on a lunchtime shopping trip, returning my smile with a sheepish one of her own, is fucking _Purity_.

Around a small laugh, she replies cheerfully, "I know! There I am, trying to get Aster to calm down after a change," another happy giggle comes from the stroller, said baby's cardinal now playing peek-a-boo with its wings, "and then, well," Purity shrugs, still smiling, then indicates my own feathered companion with curiosity in her eyes, "If… ah, you don't mind me asking?"

Fighting down the scream of terror and nervousness that threatens to rip out of my mouth, I give a dry chuckle and reply blithely, "Let's just say that job hunting isn't as easy as adults make it look," feeling a little of the old anxiety and helplessness leak into my thoughts, I sigh and look at my tea sadly, "I'm not gonna give up, though. There has to be _somewhere_ that'll take me." The cardinal at my shoulder titters in support; he doesn't actually know _why_ I'm depressed, but wants to cheer me up anyway, the dear.

Purity surprises me by taking the empty stretch of bench next to me, making sure her daughter is facing her, and replies encouragingly, "Again, if you don't mind me saying, you look a little young, to be filling out job applications, that is. An admirable work ethic," she nods when I look her way, trying not to stare _too_ hard at the incandescently-bright shimmer that permeates her being, and smiles uncertainly, "but you look like you should still be in school."

 _Emma._ "I dropped out," is my wooden reply, "Bullies and education don't really mix, so I've gone the self-study route." wait, there's something I'm forgetting – manners! Crap! "Sorry, um, I'm Taylor. Nice to meet you," and I give her a winning smile

"Oh. I know how that is, the bullying. My sympathies, but it looks like they failed, because you're still trying," the Parahuman next to me nods in assurance, and sticks her hand out, "Kayden Russel, and this is Aster," the little bundle of joy lets out a tired sigh, the cardinal watching her singing softly on her perch.

 _'Oh, that is so cute!'_ I think even as I smile and shake Puri- _Kayden's_ hand; at the same time, at a cellphone kiosk two blocks away, I stop an attempted robbery by an E88 mook with a red-bellied woodpecker that'd hidden himself under a table. The Neo-Nazi fuck-wit runs out the door screaming with some fresh bumps on his head as the bird gives chase, screeching furiously…

Right into the beat cops and their turkey vulture partner.

And here I sit, with one of the most dangerous Blasters on the East Coast, and she's another Nazi.

Time to address the big, feathered elephant in the room, "I gotta say, Mrs. Russel, Night Owl's really taken the gangs to task… not to mention the city!" I chuckle at the end as a Canadian goose flies a few feet above the Boardwalk and drops its payload, a bundle of trash from the Bay, right into a garbage can.

"Kayden, please," smiles the woman next to me. After making sure Aster's fine with her nap, she gently and hesitantly pats the cardinal on her head, whispering, "Thank you."

 _Peep!_ Okay, I'm not doing this, and neither is Queenie! The hell is going on?!

 **[** query **] [** Queenie, how are our birds doing things by themselves? **]**

 **[** data **] [Aside from any active** **[** proposals **], such as clearing up detritus** **around the city and ensuring the crime rate stays down, they are acting as though they were you. Do you not remember your first action with your expanded abilities?]**

 **[** uncertainty **] [** Umm… **]**

 **[** exasperation, data **] [Taylor, you [** informed **] every avian in your range that you would one day call on them, that you are the one they must [** observe **] and [** serve **] to the best of their ability. They are acting on this premise, and I am [** refining **] their movements through my raven lieutenants.]**

Oh. Huh. I'd better be more careful in the future. On that topic:

 **[** concern **] [** _Please_ tell me I can't do this with **[** Direct Shard Administration **]**! **]**

 **[** assurance **] [Be at ease, Taylor. We cannot do this without an appropriate [** Shard **] within our area of control, while in [** Interface **].]**

Oh, thank Saint Carlin the Hilarious!

"So, you don't see yourself getting any more luck today?" Oh, Kayden, right.

"With job-hunting?" I ask after sending Queenie **[** relief **]** ; when Kayden nods, I sigh in annoyance, "Yeah, it's not looking too good. Between some places not wanting to hire a minor, and others not thinking I've got "the Look" for their business…"

The well-dressed woman next to me huffs derisively as her fellow Nazi gets cuffed on the ground with a vulture standing on his neck, offering invective to every member of the avian race he can name as a cruiser pulls up, "I really don't get why clothing stores do that, only hiring people with a certain cut to their jawline," she shakes her head and asks politely, "Just to be certain, you _are_ offering a resume?"

I nod quickly, digging one of the sheets of paper and handing it over, "Yeah! I mean, I've never had a real job before, but I've got to start somewhere! That _isn't_ Fugly Bob's, thank you." Dad needs money, I need money (that isn't the spoils of a Merchant raid), and the farm will need money to get up and running for my eventual heroing career.

"Oh, you're Danny Hebert's daughter?" wha? How does she know Dad? I nod, feeling a _little_ apprehensive, but she still smiles, "He's a good man, if somewhat infuriating to deal with," she adds with a small laugh, "I work in real estate, and the man _insists_ on being present in negotiations for any of his Union members who my firm looks to buy from. Makes sure they get the best price possible for their homes, sometimes enough to go and buy another, and is the toughest negotiator I've ever dealt with." Her smile is more respecting than derisive, and that sends Kayden up a couple notches on my respect meter.

Though that still puts her around 'Greg Veder' because… well, _Nazi_.

On the other hand, she didn't show up in support of Kaiser's bullshit this morning… I have the crow sitting at my computer desk start looking up any information on Purity.

At the same time, I nod with a small smirk of my own, "That's my Dad, alright. He takes care of his own."

"And you dropped out to help him, as well as help yourself?" I give another nod with a wince, remembering the talk we had before he left for Boston, about not making any more life-changing decisions without him.

When he finds out who I am, what I plan to do… maybe I should put it off a little longer…

No. I'd already promised myself: as soon as **[** Proposal: 'PRT Frontline' **]** gets approved, which will probably be tomorrow night, after I meet with the Director and hash the important bits out, I have to tell Dad about Night Owl, and that I'm planning on coordinating missions against major threats like the Teeth, Nilbog, the Endbringers, and S9.

No matter how mad Dad gets at me for not telling him earlier, or that I'll be putting myself in harm's way, it won't change the fact that my doing this will give humanity a better chance. I'll have to be upfront with him, make sure all my arguments are ready for when he comes home, and _hopefully_ I won't be grounded until the heat death of the Universe.

I have to tell him… because I love my Dad. He deserves to know what his little girl's about to do.

Anyway, Kayden takes another look at my resume, and points at a block, "I can respect that kind of decisiveness in life. You're proficient at MSOffice?"

I nod again, "One thing I can say about Winslow: they've got a good computer teacher… even if all the hardware's outdated," I add before taking another sip of tea.

Kayden hums thoughtfully, glances at the sleeping form of Aster, then reaches for her purse, "Tell you what, Taylor: my firm's looking for someone who can do data entry. Nothing difficult or sensitive, just someone to write out ads for the paper, proofread paperwork, things like that," and she hands me a business card! "If you come by tomorrow, around… ten AM good for you?"

I nod enthusiastically, because I've just checked the firm she works at, and there's a distinct lack of E88 tags and gangers around. Dad'll be pleased, and I'll be working my first job!

She smiles in satisfaction and continues, folding up the paper I've given her, "I'll bring this into work, and put in a good word with the hiring manager."

"Thanks! Um, not that I'm ungrateful, but," yeah, this needs to be asked, "why are you doing this for me?"

"Well," her smile turns a little sad, "not so long ago, I was in the same position as the one you just escaped: being bullied, no doubt feeling like your life was only going to get worse," _Purity?!_ Bullied?! Is the sky falling? "I remember wishing someone would… not take pity, but just for once, I wanted someone to take me seriously and not treat me like a doormat." She nods at me, "I remember how Danny Hebert was before he lost his wife, and I remember her as well, from my days of grad school when she taught English Lit. My sympathies, Taylor. I don't remember her well," she admits while I try to ignore the pang in my heart, "but I'm sure she'd be proud of you for taking the initiative."

 **[** data **]** hits me from the crow camped at my computer. Purity cut ties with the Empire a few months ago. She also vanished from the public eye for quite some time, nearly a year ago.

I send Queenie a **[** query **]**

She responds almost immediately with **[** confidence **]** and **[** caution **]**

Here goes nothing…

"Thank you… Kayden," I manage to say. She just nods and pats me on the arm, looking like she's about to leave. I'll only have one chance at this, "Um, if you don't mind," Kayden looks over, face polite but a little impatient, "I have a question to ask you."

"Go ahead." She nods, smile coming back, no doubt wondering if I've a question about my mother.

If only I were so naïve.

Making sure we won't be overheard, I observe quietly with a thoughtful tone, "You really cut ties with the Empire, didn't you?"

Her entire bearing shifts in an instant, face becoming _very serious_ , mouth a flat line.

But I smile disarmingly and say calmly, "I'm not with them, Kayden. I'm not with any of the gangs… and though I've made sure the PRT is aware of me, I'm not with them either." I add, taking a sip of my now lukewarm tea.

Hmm, might have to get another, or just head home. Homemade is always better than café brewed.

"Then who are you with?" to say her tone was frigid would be like saying Legend is buff. _Vast_ understatement.

The cardinal next to me tweets and flutters over to a guardrail to do its business with a few other birds; around an elbow-jerk in the bright red little guy's direction, I tell the woman next to me flatly, "The worst part about managing them all is making sure they crap in designated areas of the city, otherwise there'd be white stuff everywhere," I laugh and stretch my arms over my head, loosening up my body in preparing to head home (because Rachel is already on her way back from Faultline's club, dogs in tow), and look askance at Kayden, who looks like she's trying her hardest not to gape, "And don't even get me _started_ on the geese! Oh god, for all they look good, those guys can be _disgusting_ with their lavatory habits."

"Ah…" She looks a little thrown, but still manages to whisper, "You're Night Owl." I nod, still smiling, though that becomes a _little_ fixed when she accuses in a cold, flat tone, "You've been spying on me."

"Uh, no," I put down my tea and look her right in the eye, "I can tell birds what to do, but I'm off the clock, so they're just doing what _they_ think _I'd_ want them to do. Like sing babies lullabies," I add softly, glancing at Aster with a smile while Kayden tenses, "or escort the police as they do their rounds."

"Then… how did you know about me?" she asks in understandable confusion. I'd probably be the same way, confused to no end, if someone discovered my secret identity without my noticing them.

I take a deep breath and reply, "I'll be keeping that close to the chest, if you don't mind," I need to know if I can trust her, but to do that, "But, in respect to your peace of mind, not to mention the Rules, and," I smile warmly at her again, "as thanks for giving me a job offer –"

"Which I'm starting to regret," mutters Kayden, looking more uncertain by the moment.

" – oh, don't! Think of the money you'll save on getting bird's nests out of gutters," after a reluctant but assenting nod, I finish, "But back to what I was saying, I'll tell you how I found out, on one condition."

"If you're going after Kaiser…" her warning trails off when I shake my head.

"No, I'm not going to even try tackling the Empire," yet. And if everything goes well, I won't _have_ to do anything about the Empire… personally, anyway; I smile at the mother next to me, "Would you like to assist me, and Bitch, in bringing Skidmark and his goons to the PRT building? I rather think," I go on with a grin as comprehension dawns on Kayden's face, "that they're _quite_ overdue for a meeting with Director Piggot, and a prison cell," I pause, then chirp, "Not necessarily in that order."

That comprehension turns to a subtle expression of wary eagerness. I guess the ENE Director's reputation as a hard-liner against Parahuman crime is both well-known and earned.

That, or I'm not the only one who absolutely _hates_ that drug-addict rapist prick Skidmark.

After she glances around carefully, Kayden leans in close to whisper, "I'll need to find a sitter for Aster this Wednesday. We'll go over the plan that night; have one of your birds lead me to wherever you and… Bitch, are that night," after I nod in understanding, her gaze hardens, "Also," she subtly grips my upper arm and _squeezes_ , giving me a warning look, "do _not_ try something like this with _any_ other cape in the city. They won't be as understanding as I've been." She lets go.

"I know, and I won't," I say quietly, trying not to wince at the light bruises she's no doubt left on my arm, and then go on a little louder, "Anyway, I gotta head home, make sure I've got a good outfit laid out for tomorrow. Thanks for the tip, Kayden!" And up I get, collecting my bags…

"Anytime, dear!" Kayden replies with a bright, motherly smile, though there's a warning glint in her eye, "Tell your father I said hi!"

"I will!" And start power-walking to the nearest bus stop, hoping the butterflies swarming my stomach don't send my light lunch all over the nice clean Boardwalk!

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 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **a/n:**

 **Not exactly a benchmark chapter, but… I like it. Nice and short, to the point.**

 **Slow down Taylor, or there'll be no crime left for the Protectorate!**

 **Introducing Purity to the mix… wasn't easy. I figured this was the _gentlest_ way to get her involved in the plot without making the story look even clunkier than it already is (from my point of view). On the other hand, DAWWW Peek-a-Boo birb!**

 **I almost feel bad for Sophia, but… given what Taylor's going to do to her, I really _don't_.**

 **Yeah, I did a PHO bit. You may now cringe in horror. It's not going to happen again, probably. If anything, PHO will only be mentioned in passing from this point forward. That was _so_ annoying to write.**

 **Anyway.**

 **Big ups to Nektos for the 100th review!**

 **Big ups to sinsd3ed for the 500th favorite!**

 **Finding the 500th subscriber would take too long right this moment (there's nearly 700 of you wonderful people), so big ups to everyone who's followed/will follow! You're the real heroes here!**

 **Big ups is British slang for major respect. I'm not British. Half-Irish, and I shamelessly appropriate other cultural idioms while writing, so _nya!_**

 **Having said that… I'm surprised this plot-bunny-turned-full-story has gotten as popular as it has! Personally, I think my other story, James Stormcaller, is the better written and thought-out fic, but the HP fandom gets something like 1000 story updates a day, while the Worm fandom is lucky if it gets _one_. Maybe that's why this story has better exposure, but I'm not complaining, just surprised is all…**

 **[ And now for a small rant]**

 **Some reviewers (4 anon reviews, quite insulting, quickly scoffed at and deleted) complained that I'm travelling further and further from the setting and tone of the Worm-verse as set forth by Wildbow. I'll try to do the main story _some_ justice, but… **

**Honestly, the Worm-verse is a dark and forbidding place already; we already have over 2 million words written by Wildbow that underline this. So, let me make this clear for those of you who expect me to write a canon!Taylor and emulate the source work nearly to a tee, or haven't read the _many_ disclaimers: **

**I am not Wildbow.**

 **If you want writing that emulates his, go read his works, or someone who has emulated his writing style (Wolf Spider comes to mind. If I didn't know better, I'd think it _was_ Wildbow who wrote it); heaven only knows he's the better author, here. And if my story seems more "happy-go-lucky" than "it gets worse", this is more to make a setting and tone that is my own, which is the _point_ of fanfiction. There will be light spots, and there will be dark moments, just like in canon, because that's how a story is written.**

 **And _no_ , I won't be removing filters for anon reviews. Some of the ones I get and subsequently roll my eyes at before deleting are positively vitriolic and demeaning in their non-spellchecked prose. This is my hobby, not my job. If I was getting paid to write this stuff, I'd be employing a beta to clean all this word vomit up.**

 **Bottom line: if you're not satisfied with this story, that's not my fault. If you have issue with the plot, or spot a typo, please don't hesitate to bring it up. But if you want to complain that my Taylor "isn't true to the 'real' Taylor", prepare to have your grievances ignored. Or save time and keep your opinion to yourself. Either or.**

 **[Rant over]**

 **And now for the reviewer responses!**

 **.**

 **Everyone pulling for Taylor/Rachel:**

 **DOOOOOOOOG WHISPEREEEEEEERRRRRRR! I ship it, too. It's just ahead of Amy/Taylor in my favorite parings list for Worm. Big ups to Ricarelit for the Wolf Spider drop; I've rarely enjoyed reading a story so much as that one.**

 **But will _this_ story be Taylor/Rachel? _Mayyyyybe_ …**

 **.**

 **Kickaha:**

 **Lavalantula? …This makes me think of spider!Behemoth. Jumping Jesus, that's terrifying. I might toss in a reference at some point.**

 **.**

 **Big ups to LordXeenTheGreat for his marathon reviews!**

 **.**

 **Demifailure:**

 **Okay, yeah, I'll admit last chapter _was_ a little cracky. At the same time, Rule 1 of Worm: DON'T MESS WITH QUEEN ADMINISTRATOR. Swarm tactics FTW.**

 **Taylor's obsession with George Carlin will be revealed… *checks notes*… after the next chapter! It has to do with her wanting to find some bright spot in the world she lives in, and Carlin's upfront cynicism sort-of matches _this_ Taylor's comedic tastes. How this came about is the focal point of a conversation with Rachel.**

 **The final Ascended will be revealed in due course, but you've got it right except on the last one: Alexandria's daughter, Crackleblur, is _not_ her biological daughter, nor is she Ascended. This and much more will be explained later.**

 **.**

 **Djberneman:**

 **Why doesn't Taylor threaten the PRT and Protectorate? Because it runs counter to what she's trying to do, and letting the PRT unmask her doesn't count as a hindrance; hell, she's hoping it'll set their minds at ease and help her case. She's not _wrong_ , but this will cause speed-bumps for her along the way. Blame Queenie for wanting to do everything yesterday.**

 **.**

 **Separ:**

 ***Queenie ruffles her feathers and continues to monitor the spider orgy***

 **… _Perhaps…_**

 **.**

 **Everyone who mentioned Hitchcock's _The Birds_ :**

 **Taylor's seen that movie, but Queenie hasn't. God help us all when movie night comes around…**

 **/|||\\\\\\\\\\\**

 **Alright everyone, chapter's over! Cue the Spider Dance!**

 ***Queenie and her spiders preform a synchronized dance***

 **Until next time!**

 **~Baked (who will _never_ write an Undertale fanfic)**


	10. Barracks 3: Partnership

**Sweet chocolate Jesus this is late.**

 **Again, I don't own Worm. Or birds of any description.**

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 **[INTERFACE]**

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 **Barracks 2.3  
Partnership**

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Once the bus drops me off two blocks from my house, I decide to walk slowly. Rachel's already in the house – and she's brought Chinese – and seems to be in good spirits, if a little wary.

I'm walking slowly because… well, I'm trying to figure out how to tell her that I'm planning on having Purity, single mother and former member of the E88, join the team. I'm also wondering when I started thinking of potential team members; the lists of who'd be a good or poor match are up there, in my head, but I can't quite remember making those lists.

 _'Which means,'_ I frown as my house comes into view, _'Queenie did it. Stupid owl that isn't one.'_

No PRT presence in a fifteen-block radius, undercover or otherwise. Given that they're 1) not really panicking, 2) have decided to let me come to them and 3) the events of this morning weren't anywhere near my house, the lack of any observation concerning my civilian identity isn't very surprising.

And while it's nice they're taking my privacy, and the safety of my family, into account, I can't stop a pang of unusual anger that thrills through me. But that's an old anger, something born of a pragmatic moment of clarity I had some years ago. It won't do me any service in the present, no matter how sensible the underlying philosophy is.

Watching the broken step – gonna have to do something about that – my frown twitches upward as Parian leaves her shop on the Boardwalk to begin her puppet show, a chorus of songbirds I've perched on her shop's awning heralding the cloth-manipulator's entrance. More smiling and laughing faces are had by the surrounding crowd, especially the children and Parian takes my musical offering in good grace.

 _'And this is only the start,'_ I muse, walking into my house and hanging up my things, Rachel and her dogs watching me from the living room. Ugh, I hope she understands the Purity situation and doesn't sic her dogs on me.

I really, _really_ don't want to get into a fight with Rachel. I mean, I'd win, probably, but the house would lose too, and explaining _that_ to Dad would be worse than telling him I'm Night Owl.

"Hey, Rachel," I say, with a little tiredness; shopping and job hunting are tiring activities, "How was Tattletale?"

She stiffens, noodles stopping halfway to her mouth while I kick my shoes off and head for the loveseat; putting her food down, Rachel fixes me with a glare, "You spied on me?"

"No. I just had a raven follow you and told her to tell me if you got into any trouble," I reply, flopping gracelessly onto the loveseat, taking the whole thing up with my tallness, "It just gave me all its memories, along with those of the bugs that were in the area you were in," I look at my fellow Parahuman, who's looking a little confused and angry, "I didn't tell it to do that, by the way."

"So… you knew what I was doing, without knowing about it," Rachel said slowly, looking like she was trying to parse my words; I nodded along helpfully, "and didn't know what was going on till just now?"

I nod again, reaching desperately for the General Tso's and pork fried rice on the coffee table, "Yeah. Most of my swarm just does stuff by itself," Rachel pushes my food toward me with a foot, before picking up an egg roll and throwing it at my head; I catch it deftly, smiling, "Thanks."

"Whatever," grumps the scowling blonde, before she huffs and asks in annoyance, "So you already know what we talked about then?"

I blink a couple times, somehow find the strength to sit up, and shrug, "Nah. I just know who you talked to, not what about," ohhh, General Tso, you delicious bastard you~. Come to Taylor.

"Oh. Good," she digs in a pocket and throws a cellular phone next to me, "Cause that smug bitch told me to give you that, said to call her if you're ever doing something interesting, or just wanna chat."

I give the high-tech brick a wary glare and say to Rachel, "I already have _you_ to talk to."

"Yeah, but I don't like talking. Words," grumps the butch girl across me, before she starts digging in again.

 **[** data **]** Oh, regular update from Sophia's **[** proposal: Observation **].** She's being questioned now, and it doesn't look like it's going well; given what the PRT and Protectorate now know about her…

Eh. I'll deal with her when I deal with her. Right now, I've got some yummy spicy chicken to devour.

For several minutes, that's all that happens; just two teenage girls and three well-behaved dogs chilling out, eating some scrumptious food. At a couple points, Rachel looks at me weirdly, like she doesn't understand something about what I'm doing.

After the third time she does this, I ask calmly, "What?" Do I have something on my face?

She replies flatly, "You eat like a starving mutt."

Blink. Scowl, "Uh, yeah. I'm a growing girl. Need my protein," delicious greasy eggroll, oh how I love you!

Rachel scoffs, "You're already fuckin' tall. How much more you gonna grow?"

Huh. That's a good question, "Hold on, I'll ask," while my new friend looks bewildered, I send a **[** query **]** to Queenie. Barely a second later, I get **[** data **]**. "Okay, so I'm probably gonna hit six feet in _about_ two months, if I keep eating like a mutt. I probably won't grow more than that, unless I find a reason to, like looking down on short people," I smirk in humor, while Rachel's confusion turns to suspicion. I pop the last of the eggroll into my mouth and ask, "What? I'm not gonna make myself seven feet tall or anything. Can you imagine how much I'd have to spend on specialty clothes?"

She puts her food down and says, "Okay, I gotta say this…" Rachel seems to engage in some sort of mental battle for a second before finally speaking heatedly, "You. Are. Bullshit."

Uh… "Uh…"

"No. Shut up," she points at me for emphasis, hushes Brutus when he growls at me, and then Rachel elaborates, "I was… forced to work for the Teeth. I met the Butcher, and even _he's_ not as bullshit as you. You eat like you're starving, and get stronger and taller. You know everything that's going on _everywhere_ , and you're so… it's like you don't fucking _care!_ " she looks pretty angry for some reason, "You can see into people's houses, listen to what everyone's saying, and you know what everyone's doing _all the time_ , and it's like…" she waves a hand at me, a disgusted glare on her face. I think it's disgusted, anyway.

I'm not entirely sure what Rachel's issue is.

Oh. Wait, there's laws against invading other people's privacy, aren't there? "You're… mad that I'm breaking the law?"

Rachel stares at me like I'm an alien and I just told her I kidnapped Elvis, " _No!_ I'm mad that you don't care! People don't like being watched all the time!"

 _Ohhhh,_ okay, I see where she's going with this. "Well," I say dismissively, "then it's a good thing that I'm _not_ watching everyone all the time, isn't it?"

She opens her mouth, but no, my turn, "Shut up and listen." Rachel shuts up, but doesn't look happy at all.

I set my food down and explain, voice growing angrier and more passionate with every word, "The average joe on the street, I'm only watching at a distance, making sure they're not getting into trouble or are about to run into trouble. What most people do, I don't really care about, and all that information doesn't get sent to my brain anyway. But the _gangs_ , the _PRT_ , the _Protectorate_ , and the _villains_ , I'm watching them _constantly,_ because a fucking _ hero _made me Trigger! _"_

Taking a couple deep breaths, I glare at the coffee table and continue, "I can't trust them to do the right thing; hell, this morning proved to me I can't trust _any of those shits,_ hero or villain, to do anything even _approaching_ sensible! Yeah, I didn't tell Queenie to go and start all that trouble," my eyes meet Rachel's, but her head turns down slightly, as though in deference to me.

Whatever, "but _they_ didn't need to wreck half the Docks over it! And now, because I stopped them, I have to live with having that kind of reputation. I have to keep the pressure on those that are _actually_ breaking the fucking law, and those that just want to keep their _bullshit_ status quo going! For _fuck's sake_ , I have to _remake_ the status quo these _stupid bastards_ have been following for decades, because if the past few days have taught me _anything_ it's that _none of those so-called heroes are HELPING anyone!"_

Breathing hard, I stand; I realize that I'm yelling, but I don't _give a shit_. This needs to come out, "They go out in costume and kiss babies, shake hands with politicians, and visit schools, _and what fucking good is that?!_ What good is Legend's fucking toy deal to some girl who's been captured by Lung's slavers?! A black kid who's just watched his parents die to neo-Nazi isn't going to want Glory Girl's goddamn autograph! While Armsmaster gets accolades from senators and pats on his armored back, _I HAD TO WATCH A THIRD OF MY FUCKING AGE GROUP GET ADDICTED TO THE MERCHANT'S DRUGS!_

"So _yeah, Bitch_ , fuck them! And fuck their privacy! If I have to tear their little dream of spandex and shitty toys apart and show them nothing's perfect, that their stupid _fucking_ utopia isn't a reality, then you better believe I'm going to do it! I'm not going to fight these gangers, these drug dealers, these _rapists._ I'm not going to ask for fucking _permission_. I'm going to tear their empires apart and do my damnedest to make sure they don't rise again! For _fuck's sake_ ," I throw my hands in the air and look furiously at Rachel, who is now looking more shocked than I've yet seen her, and so are her dogs.

Wow. I'd better tone it down a little.

"We can't count on these _heroes_ to do the right thing and stick their necks out for those that really need it," I sigh, feeling tears come to my eyes, but I grit my teeth and finish, "So I'm going to do it. I'm going to go out there in costume, jump through the hoops, pay lip service to the PRT, and put these monsters in prison, or in the _ground_ , like they deserve. Like they've _earned_.

"Because the average joe _doesn't_ _deserve_ to have to look over their shoulder every time they have to go to the corner store for a six pack and some candy for their kids. The store owner _doesn't_ _deserve_ to get robbed every other day, or hassled for protection money. And those kids… they shouldn't have to live in fear of someone locking them away for the rest of their lives, or getting them hooked on drugs, or their parents getting killed because of the color of their fucking _skin_. We've already got the Endbringers, Nilbog, Ash Beast, Moord Nag, Sleeper, and the NIne; we don't _need_ these pretentious assholes running around playing villain. We've got enough monsters to fight as it is."

And I sit down, winded from finally having the chance to tell someone that. A year and a half of loneliness probably brought that on. Yeah. I'm not stressed out, everything's going swimmingly.

Oh, that reminds me.

"Also," I point at Rachel with a morsel-laden fork, "again, I'm not watching most people."

She glares, "Yeah, you just fucking said that."

I shake my head and smirk, "Yeah, but I didn't give a reason, really. If I was watching everyone all the time, I'd know how much people were fucking, and no." I laugh at Rachel's disbelieving expression, "Just no."

Rachel hums, as though she's thinking about that, then picks up her food again, "I guess you do care. Good."

"Duh," I reply as I pick up the remote and start flipping through channels.

.

[2.3]

.

Vista stood upon the top of the PRT building and surveyed her domain, hands on her hips like the true hero she was. Unlike _Shadow Stalker_ , who seemed to have tried her best to ruin them in the eyes of the Bird Master, _Vista_ was clean as a whistle and on the straight and narrow. By golly, no one was gonna start shit on her watch-

"Hold that pose," Vista's heroic scowl turned into an enraged one, as Dennis' voice briefly preceded the sound of his phone snapping a picture.

"Clock!" she whirled on her fellow – and very annoying – Ward, "If you post that, so help me I'll-I'll- _I'll send you to the middle of the Atlantic."_

"Cool down, Vista," he waved his hands in an attempt to calm her; it didn't work much, "It's actually a pretty good picture. PFP on PHO worthy even. Here, look."

Vista did… and yeah, it _was_ pretty good, _but_ , "I _still_ would've liked permission before you photographed me. And are you taking a class or something?" he'd captured the sun and the Bay's layout really well, even managing to get Captain's Hill into the shot, "This is really good."

Clockblocker shrugged, explaining as he sent the picture to her phone, "Miss dark and scary doesn't talk much while on patrol – and when she does it's usually insults – so I decided to pick up a hobby to help pass the time."

"Huh," why didn't she ever think of that; oh wait, "So instead of looking for crime-"

"I can do both!"

"You have the attention span of a gnat, Clock. No you can't."

"Hey, I'll have you know that I'm a very smart gnat."

Vista opened her mouth to rebuke that extremely stupid quip when a small, blue object bounced off Clockblocker's helmet with a loud _clack!_

Good thing she'd trained for surprise attacks. Vista got herself and Clockblocker the hell away from whatever it was while the PRT troopers lining the helipad – who'd all been pretending to ignore the two young heroes' banter – shouted in alarm and aimed their foam sprayers at the…

It was a plastic document tube, like what office buildings used for sensitive papers.

An eagle screeched above them and flew off toward the Boat Graveyard. Or the Boardwalk. Both were in the same area.

Vista squinted at the raptor, then the tube. She pinched space to get a closer look at the latter –

"Miss Vista, please get away from that." One of the troopers tried.

"Quiet you," replied Vista distractedly as she _carefully_ examined the package, ignoring Dennis' grumbling about annoying birds.

-and felt her heart skip a beat at the tiny, typed letters on one capped end of the tube.

 _To: Director Emily Piggot, PRT ENE;  
Armsmaster, Senior Team Leader, Protectorate ENE;  
Miss Militia, Ward's Supervisor, Protectorate ENE_

 _From: Night Owl_

Given everything that'd happened that day, Vista just hoped _she_ didn't get M/S tanked… or worse, crapped on by birds like Stalker was.

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[2.3]

.

 _To the lord-high mucky-mucks who shouldn't call people on their home phones, no matter how potentially dangerous said person is:_

 _Yes, it's me again. Night Owl. I have a few things to say._

 _Firstly, Director, please don't do that again. I've made my intentions clear and will not be revisiting them._

 _Secondly, Armsmaster, if you, Velocity, Triumph, Kid Win, Vista, Clockblocker and Dauntless could please make yourselves available, preferably with a few paddy wagons and squads of PRT troopers, this Thursday evening at the rally point on Pine Drive, I would really appreciate it. The details will be discussed in my meeting with the Director, so she'll be able to read you in on what I and my allies will be up to that evening._

 _Thirdly, to the Director and Miss Militia, I have a solution for the Shadow Stalker dilemma, and am more-or-less prepared to read you in on my mutual assistance program. I propose we meet at the below Latitude/Longitude coordinates tomorrow evening, preferably around 10:20 PM. I would prefer the Director and no more than three Protectorate capes of her choosing accompany her, in addition to Shadow Stalker; no troopers. You may bring the Triumvirate for all I care, as my intentions are strictly honorable._

 _Finally, Director, enclosed are the names, locker numbers, and ranks of all the moles in the PRT ENE. They've been sorted according to who they answer to and by order of their importance, top to bottom. Happy hunting._

 _Hoping you're in good health, and eager to meet you all in person,_

 _Night Owl_

 _PS: Please apologize to Clockblocker for me. I couldn't resist_ ;P

 _PPS: While Kid Win's idea is very sweet and thoughtful, I don't really need a Tinker-tech birdfeeder. Please tell him to stop before he wastes materials that might be better used elsewhere._

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[2.3]

.

"HOW IN THE _FUCK_ DOES SHE KNOW ALL OF THIS?!"

Chris didn't know how to answer the Director's screamed question. Hell, he didn't know how Night Owl knew he was making a birdfeeder; the plans were still on his laptop – which he'd brought to lunch on the rooftop _goddamnit._

In his defense, it seemed like a good apology gift, what with Shadow Stalker _somehow_ pissing the S-ranked cape off enough to warrant daily doses of white luck.

"The Think Tank says she's been operating for _at least_ the last six months, maybe seven," Armsmaster's clipped voice cut off Piggot's fuming tirade; Chris, and all the other Protectorate capes for that matter, had _never_ seen the Director that pissed off, "That may push her Trigger date back by a year, maybe more."

The Director exchanged a look with the veteran Tinker; while Kid Win didn't know what that was about, he knew it wasn't good, because the Director gave a _really_ pissed-off sigh.

Her next words floored the Wards. Even _Armsmaster_ flinched.

"Call LA and request they send over Crackleblur." A pause, filled with shock, then the Director added airily, "As _discrete_ as possible, please. I don't want lightning bolts flying out of nowhere and spooking the gangs."

"So," Aegis had raised his hand, drawing glares from both Piggot and Armsy, "what's going to happen to Shadow Stalker?"

"Do you care?" hissed Dennis, while Missy folded her arms and scowled – pouted – next to him.

"Assuming Night Owl's proposal isn't too farfetched or causes harm to the girl," gritted out the Director, "that will… remain to be seen, _urgh,_ " she rubbed her face and looked at Armsmaster pleadingly, "Is Hero _sure_ it's impossible?"

The Tinker shrugged, "Unless you want to make most of the bird population die out, there's no way to secure _everything_ against Night Owl."

After a moment of tense silence, Kid Win interjected hopefully, "Uh, will we be needing more curtains then? You know, to keep Night Owl from watching us all the time? Because I think I have an invention that can help with that..."

And Chris' feeble attempt at a jest slipped, fell, and cracked its head against the floor. Death was instantaneous, and no one attended the funeral.

He decided to build the birdfeeder anyway, just to spite Night Owl for making their lives hell.

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[2.3]

.

A smile lights up my face as I lift the neatly-pressed blouse from the ironing board. It's a nice shade of yellow, which will match nicely with the brown skirt I'm planning on wearing to Kayden's office tomorrow.

Rachel took the news well. All she did was frown, nod and say, "More people to fuck up the Merchants. She's not a Nazi anymore, right? Good."

She's lucky she's so butch and muscly, or I might've been offended by her bluntness.

Who was I kidding, I mused with a small grin, heading back up to my room to lay out my kickass outfit; I was just as blunt most of the time. But I got that from studying my idol and life-coach-by-proxy.

And Rachel's in my room. "Where are your dogs?" I ask, looking around – oh, they're in the living room still. "Nevermind, why are you in here?" I ask the blonde in only a little annoyance; my room is the last safe place, somewhere no one – except Dad, but he's a parent and therefore doesn't count – can bother me.

Rachel's looking at my posters and drawings, scattered over my wall, "You draw these?" I nod. "You're really good." I blush and move past her to put my blouse on the back of my computer chair, "Who's the old guy?"

Wait.

 _What?_

I whirl around and find Rachel pointing at my most prized – after the flute, but that died – possession: a signed poster of George Carlin in his capacity of Rufus, the time-travelling mentor from _Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure_.

It was one of the last signings he did before Leviathan killed him in Seattle – _vengeance shall be MINE!_ – and one of my fondest memories of Christmas with Mom and Dad; they'd gone to Boston to get this prize most priceless for me, as I'd adored Rufus, and Saint George by extension, since I first saw the movie when I was six.

In the years between then and now, I managed to collect every single stand-up act of the Funniest Man to Ever Live, all of his movies, and a very rare bobblehead that sat pride of place on top of my computer tower.

And Rachel has _never heard of him._

Finally getting over my shock, I hiss, "How do you _not_ know who that – nevermind," I amend flatly when Rachel glares at me, "Give me a minute to get the DVD player ready and make some popcorn. You," placing my hands on her shoulders, I spoke to my new friend and comrade seriously, "should prepare to laugh at the antics and humor of Saint George Carlin, the wittiest comic to ever live."

Rachel frowns thoughtfully at my words before nodding slightly, then asks, "Can I get that backrub too?"

 **[** data **]**

…Crackleblur was coming to the Bay…

"…yes Rachel, yes you can," I may as well live it up a little, before what might be my last day on Earth.

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[2.3]

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 **The Mojave Desert**

Two sets of deafening booms echoed over the searing wastes; what little wildlife braved one of the most arid deserts on the planet sought shelter as sharp cracks and sonic booms rang out over and over again, lightning flashing through the clear sky and displaced air washing over shrubs and cacti.

But then, most of the wildlife was used to these weekly sparring sessions.

A sizzling sound preceded the crack of thunder as one of the fighters came to a stop over an outcropping of sandstone.

Wild red hair spilled over the back of her sky-blue costume, the simple rectangular visor over her eyes tracking the movements of her _mama's_ black-grey form as the older woman came for another pass. Smirking, the Mexican girl shifted closer to her Breaker state, her body dissolving into twisting bolts of lightning; around her, she felt the charges of the air bend to her will.

Not hesitating, she directed them into her _mama's_ helmet, though not as fast as she would if she was facing, say, Leviathan or Behemoth; that helmet wasn't easy to replace, and it wasn't like they were really fight-

The miss cost Crackleblur, as Alexandria, her adoptive mother, darted around the bolts and shot right at her like the flying brick she was.

 _Crackkle!_

And then the younger girl was a mile above the ground, one hand trailing a stream of blue-white electricity. Another second of _focus_ and-

 ** _KROOOOM!_**

Even her visor had a hard time cancelling the bright flash of the thunderbolt she sent back into the desert; she'd been working on that move since forcing Leviathan to retreat in India last year.

Crackleblur's head swung from the crater she'd made to her surroundings, searching, _'Where – above!'_

Too late.

A black clad hand landed gently on the crown of Julisa's head and ruffled her hair, "Gah! _Mama, deja es a~_ hora!" She swatted her smiling mother's hand aside and glared. She _hated_ when her _mama_ did that!

"That was much better than last week, Julisa," complimented the woman who'd took her in, eight years ago; then her mouth returned to its usual flat line, "Having said that, you're still not moving as fast as I know you can."

"It's only a spar, _mama,_ " Crackleblur crossed her arms and ducked her head, but didn't take her eyes off her mother.

"You're distracted as well; the timing on your melee attacks was off by a quarter second. Is it the Bay?" when her daughter nodded, Alexandria shook her head and smiled, "I'm sure it's not as serious as PHO makes it sound, _mi rayo de sol_."

They'd talked about it earlier in the day, the sudden appearance of Night Owl, newest S-ranked cape to appear on the PRT's radar; though, it was more like Night Owl _decided_ to make herself known, which reminded Julisa bitterly of what happened to the province of Chihuahua and her hometown, right before… _He_ showed up.

No warning, no preparation, no terms, just…

Shaking her head, Crackleblur shot back to ground level as a fork of lightning; two seconds later, Alexandria was beside her and the younger cape was talking again, "I just… No one should have that kind of power, _mama_ ," she gestured in frustration before saying pointedly, "No _normal_ cape, anyway."

Her mother looked at the nearby Protectorate outpost, where the 'trouble' Wards were retrained; a small city of concrete and cinder block, it was built to simulate urban environments for practical training, while the football stadium-sized outbuilding served the purpose of a school, cafeteria, and living quarters for the capes and PRT troopers who worked there.

Humming a little, Alexandria clicked her tongue and observed, "You think Night Owl is like Ruin."

Julisa shivered and bared her teeth, remembering what that _monster_ did to her home, her family, and _herself_ , " _Si._ "

"Possible. We know there are others, and Night Owl remained undetected for some time before revealing herself; Glaistig Uaine was an unknown for nearly a decade before showing her true self, and _he_ Triggered in Sydney, nearly five years before he made his move," the member of the Triumvirate crossed her arms and looked worriedly at her daughter, "Be that as it may, the Horror of Red Jacket never bothered with social niceties; he just wipes populations out. Night Owl is not the same person."

"No, but she can be _worse_ ," argued the leader of LA's Wards, making a cutting gesture for emphasis, "How many birds are in a _city?_ Is she limited to _only_ birds; you have heard the report of what she did to that _bastardo_ Skidmark. And if she is alike to the Ascended-"

"Julisa," chided Rebecca in a hard tone, floating closer to her furious daughter, "Night Owl is _not_ like the other three Ascended. You must remember this: she was not a slave, she was not a pariah, she was not wronged. By comparison to the other three, she has the best chance to become an ally."

The words burned Julisa to hear; she had suffered at _his_ hands and power personally, pushed over the edge _twice_ in an attempt to avenge her town. The monster _deserved_ death, after Red Jacket, Chihuahua and Panama.

More than that, no new Ascended could be allowed to roam free.

"I know that look, _mi raya de sol_. And I know," Julisa leaned into her mother's strong hand as it was placed on her shoulder, "You want her watched. We _are_ watching her, from a distance."

"If she goes off the rails, I want in on the mission to take her down," the younger cape hissed, electricity dancing over her teeth and fingers.

Alexandria sighed with a smile; once her daughter had an idea in her head, it was difficult to change her mind, "I'm sure it won't come to that." A beep sounded in her ear, "One moment."

While her mother answered the phone call, Julisa amused herself by trying to charge pieces of metal and make them levitate; like the last time she tried, only the four largest pieces on the rocky ground answered her call, and those quickly dissolved into nothing under her power's assault.

"Tsk," Crackleblur clicked her tongue and looked for another piece; if she could perfect the technique, she could no-sell _Him_ , if he ever showed his mask again.

Honestly though, as she levitated a larger piece of rusty iron, Julisa thought her _mama_ was right; Night Owl didn't strike anyone – least of all the Think Tank, Dragon, Hero and Legend – as the type to go after the common folk. It probably _would_ be alright. But…

 _'What kind of Master offers to put down the_ Rey Goblin? _Doesn't she know how that sounds?'_

"Crackleblur."

The iron chunk disintegrated; lips pursed, the Ward turned to her _mama._

Alexandria's face was hard, "Night Owl's requested a meeting, told Director Piggot she could bring three capes of her choosing. You are one of them."

Well… it seemed Crackleblur would find out what Night Owl was really like sooner than later.

"When am I leaving, _mama?_ "

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 **A/N:**

Yes, very late, I know.

Since I was last on this fic, the faves and follows have gone from 500/700 to 840/1107, and nearly fifty reviews have been submitted.

Honestly, I get that it's popular, but it's so close to the verge of trope-y silliness that I hesitate to write anything about this fic, more often than not.

On the other hand, I really enjoyed writing it, and will enjoy writing any future chapters. Odds are the plot will pick up more than a little bit as I move forward, as I have _so many_ other, better written stories to write at present.

Sorry for not responding to any reviews, but as everyone seems to be extolling the awesomeness of Birb!Taylor and Queenie, I'll assume everyone loves it!

Until we next meet, folks

~Baked


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